


Need/Want

by ellaisall



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Bisexual Stanley Uris, F/M, First Time, Friends With Benefits, Minor Ben Hanscom/Beverly Marsh, Minor Bill Denbrough/Mike Hanlon, Minor Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Stanley Uris-centric
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-30
Packaged: 2021-03-11 10:42:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 26,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28469994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ellaisall/pseuds/ellaisall
Summary: He’s tearing up, he knows he is, but if he doesn’t acknowledge it, no one else has to know. “If I seem like I’m unhappy it’s because- Because. I don’t… Ugh. Fuck. I look at you guys and you’re so fucking perfect together and I realize I’ve pushed away every person who has ever tried to be intimate with me! And what if I never get to have that? You know? And I don’t think I’m entitled to sex or love or. Or happiness. But I want it! And I don’t know why I’m like this and-and how the fuck am I going to be a husband and father by twenty-five if I- if I can’t-”Or, Stan’s lonely. He and Patty match on Tinder.
Relationships: Patricia Blum Uris/Stanley Uris
Comments: 15
Kudos: 106





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> content warnings: alcohol use, references to biphobia, one flippant suicide joke, explicit sexual content, some body image issues
> 
> also. prepare yourself for some secondhand embarrassment.

Eddie and Richie becoming boyfriends was not a surprise. Stan is happy for them, he _is_ . His roommates had danced around their feelings for each other for years. It was exhausting to witness. To mediate. This past July, when Eddie visited Richie’s home for a week and they shared a kiss that neither would own up to initiating, and Stan stayed up until 4 am texting them separately, trying to convince them that yes, that kiss _sure seems like it means something, maybe you should talk to him about how you feel,_ and then both of them ignored his advice? Awful. He’s glad they’re past that stage.

They got together in August, just before the start of the semester. Now, Richie and Eddie stare at each other with soft eyes and don’t even try to hide it. Stan’s lost track of how many times he’s walked in on them making out in the kitchen. He doesn’t share a wall with either of their rooms, so he really shouldn’t complain. 

He isn’t jealous. As much as Bill loves to bring up the _literally only three weeks_ when Stan had a crush on Richie during freshman year, Stan’s annoyance is not evidence of some deeply buried feelings for his friends. He doesn’t want either of them. 

Stan has become acutely aware of the difference between jealousy and envy.

The night that Stan loses control of his life is a Wednesday, which means Bill was supposed to do the dishes, so the only glasses that are clean are mugs. Stan, accepting his position as third wheel, was planning to spend the night drinking and hanging out with Richie and Eddie in their living room. He doesn’t take one of the clean mugs. Stan is the only one who doesn’t need a mixer - vodka knocks him out too quickly, he’s pretty strictly a wine guy these days - so he opts to drink directly from the bottle. This is, arguably, a mistake. 

“Stanley,” Richie says out of nowhere. Stan shifts to face him, his movement slow and fluid. “I love you.”

“I love you too?” Stan says. He looks at Eddie, puzzled. Eddie, patiently watching Richie talk, offers no explanation.

Richie clasps his hands together, then continues. “I’m sorry that I’ve been annoying-”

 _“We’ve_ been annoying,” Eddie cuts in.

“...We’ve been annoying about our relationship lately. Our PDA is obnoxious and. Uh. We shouldn’t be. Uh.”

Stan recognizes that they planned this. He drinks.

“We shouldn’t bug you about being single,” Eddie continues. “We are happier in a relationship but that doesn’t mean _you_ should be unhappy.” 

“And when I tease you about not getting laid, I don’t mean to be. Uh. Judgmental of your choices,” Richie says. “I know you’re like waiting for marriage or whatever-”

Stan sniffs and looks down at the carpet. He clears his throat. “I’m. No.”

“What?” Richie says, like he didn’t hear him. 

“I’m not _waiting_. Not- not intentionally. Um.”

Oh God. He feels like he’s going to cry. It’s an embarrassing overreaction. It’s the wine exacerbating his feelings, it has to be. He swallows and blinks a few times, hoping to clear it.

Eddie is frowning at him. “Are you okay?” he asks gently.

“Sorry. Fuck. Um. Ignore me. You don’t have to apologize. You’re finally together, that’s exciting! I swear I am so, so happy for you.” 

He sniffs and rubs harshly at his eye. He’s tearing up, he knows he is, but if he doesn’t acknowledge it, no one else has to know. “If I seem like I’m unhappy it’s because- Because. I don’t… Ugh. _Fuck._ I look at you guys and you’re so fucking perfect together and I realize I’ve pushed away every person who has ever tried to be intimate with me! And what if I never get to have that? You know? And I don’t think I’m _entitled_ to sex or love or. Or happiness. But I want it! And I don’t know why I’m like this and-and how the fuck am I going to be a husband and father by twenty-five if I- if I can’t-”

He’s spiraling.

“Nope, okay, you’re spiraling,” Richie says. “Do you want a hug?”

Stan shakes his head, curling in on himself more. He can’t look at them. 

“No problem… it’s okay… here,” Richie says, sounding like he’s approaching an easily spooked animal. He gently hands Stan a throw pillow from the couch. 

Stan snatches the pillow and clings to it. He shudders when he realizes he is rejecting physical intimacy _again._

They give him space until he stops crying and can regulate his breathing again. Eddie smiles at Stan kindly when they rejoin him in the living room. “Do you want to talk about it?” Eddie asks.

Stan hiccups, then groans. “No. But I probably should.”

Richie nods. “Seems like you kept that bottled up for a while, bud.” 

“When’s the last time you went on a date?” Eddie asks.

“It’s been…” Stan sniffles. “I don’t know. Months.”

“Are you interested in anyone right now?” Richie asks.

Fuck, Stan wishes. “No.”

Eddie scrunches his face, like he’s thinking. “Maybe you need to get on Tinder again. Talk to some new people.”

“Because that went _so well_ in the past,” Stan rolls his eyes. 

“You just have to give it an honest shot,” Eddie says. “And uh. Not ghost everyone.”

“Easy for you to say, Eds. Remind me again how well dating apps worked out for you.”

“Not at all!” Richie grins and gives a thumbs up.

Eddie bats at Richie’s arm fondly. “Not the point. I was in love with this moron, it was doomed from the start.”

“I hate Tinder,” Stan says. “I don’t think I can give it an _honest shot_ because I’m uncomfortable with the whole process, it’s inferior compared to organically meeting someone-”

“We could help! We could make a profile for you and everything,” Richie says. He has a gleam of excitement in his eyes. 

Stan hugs his knees. “You guys don’t have to help me with this. Seriously. I got emotional because I’m drunk. I’m fine.”

“Bullshit,” Richie says.

“You helped us,” Eddie says. “I don’t know if we’d have figured out our shit without you. We owe you.”

Stan sighs. He did help them. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad… 

“Okay,” Stan says. “Sure. Fine. You can help. But I reserve the right to change my mind in the morning.”

“Your phone, good sir,” Richie says in a Voice, holding out his hand. Stan reluctantly gives him his phone. 

Bill enters the living room as Richie starts to download the app and Eddie grabs a notebook from his bedroom. 

“Okay. We can start brainstorming what we’ll write about you,” Eddie says. 

“First question. Do you want something casual or serious?” Richie asks. 

Both options make Stan sweat. “I don’t know,” he says, honestly. “I think it’s going to be… challenging… to find someone who meets all my criteria for a serious relationship. There’s a lot. Oh God, are my standards too high? Am I going to die alone because my standards are too high?”

Richie shushes him. “You’re fine. We don’t need to search for the future Mr.-or-Mrs.-or-Mx. Uris right now. No biggie.”

Stan smashes his face into the pillow. He speaks, his words garbled, but likely something along the lines of, “Thanks for being inclusive, at least.”

“Okay. Settings-wise we’re gonna go with a five mile radius, ages 18 to 22, men and women,” Richie says. 

Stan gives Richie a thumbs up, his face still pressed into the pillow. He hears Richie tapping on the screen. 

“Scroll carefully. If I see Stan’s nudes I’ll scream,” Eddie says.

“Why would I have nudes? Jesus Christ,” Stan says, looking up.

“Am I allowed to search your entire photo library?” Richie asks.

“Yes, sure, whatever.”

“Are we doing Grindr too? Because having nudes ready would be helpful,” Bill interjects. 

“Hi Bill,” Stan groans. “No. One app at a time and _I am not sending nudes._ ”

Bill shrugs and drifts closer to them, looking at Eddie’s notebook.

“Good, you can help,” Eddie says to Bill. “You have more experience with this kind of thing. What should his bio say?”

“Oh! Height! I think you’re supposed to lie if you’re under 6’0? Add a couple inches? I wouldn’t know, I’m 6’1,” Richie smiles.

“Oh my God. We’re not lying about how tall he is. Stan’s 5’9, he’s a _perfectly average height_ -”

“Billy, do you tell people how tall you are?” Richie asks, interrupting Eddie.

“I list my real height in my bio, yeah,” Bill says. “Don’t hide it. Some guys are really into the short thing. You’re, what, a bottom?”

Stan covers his face with his hands. “I guess,” he squeaks out.

Bill claps his shoulder. “You’ll be fine.”

“5’9 is 69 inches. Can we use that somehow?” Richie says.

Stan removes his hands from his eyes to glare at him.

“What?” Richie continues, raising his hands defensively. “Your height is the sex number, man, that’s incredible.”

“If we’re talking inches-” Bill starts.

“No,” Stan says, firmly. “Stop. Not happening.”

“Can we all take this seriously, please?” Eddie grumbles. The guys nod. “Thank you. Thoughts on including his zodiac sign?”

Bill hums and tilts his head side to side, considering.

“Stan’s a Cancer, that means he’s sensitive,” Richie taps on Eddie’s notebook. Eddie jots that down.

“I’m not having sex with someone who thinks astrology has any basis in reality,” Stan says.

Eddie nods and crosses that line off. 

Stan keeps drinking as his friends workshop his bio. He blocks out their discussion the best he can.

When Eddie announces that his profile is “perfect,” Bill looks it over and nods. He gives Eddie a thumbs up. “Do you want to see it?” he asks Stan.

Stan purses his lips then shakes his head. “I don’t want to officially support any part of this.”

“Suit yourself,” Bill shrugs. He hands Stan’s phone to Richie, then wanders away.

“You have to give us some guidance. What’s your type, Stan?” Eddie asks, poised to take more notes. 

“Doesn’t matter. I’m swiping right on everyone,” Richie says, his finger rapidly swiping.

“Don’t do that! The algorithm punishes people who do that,” Bill says, popping his head back into the room.

“How do you know how the Tinder algorithm works?” Eddie shakes his head.

“I know things,” Bill says. He sits down on the other side of Richie. “Okay, I saw it on Reddit. But it makes sense. They’re trying to prevent bots or whatever.”

Stan watches Richie censor himself. _But Stanley’s a robot_ , he imagines him saying. _Cold, unfeeling, unable to connect with humans no matter how hard he tries._

Stan knows, logically, that he wouldn’t say that. Richie avoids making jokes that hurt. 

“Whatever. Go nuts. I’m deleting the app in the morning,” Stan grumbles, gulping more wine. He finishes the bottle and places it gently upright on the table. He heads up to his room, leaving his friends with his unlocked phone. This is, arguably, another mistake. 

Stan is briefly woken up a couple hours later by Richie entering his bedroom, depositing Stan’s cell phone onto his bedside table, and patting him on the head. 

* * *

Stan wakes up the next morning with a headache and too many notifications. He rectifies the former with two ibuprofen and 12 ounces of water. The latter is not as easy to fix.

He unlocks his phone and his stomach drops when he sees just how many of those notifications are for Tinder. He has a fair number of matches, mostly guys who aren’t his type _at all,_ maybe he should’ve given Eddie some tips. Stan doesn’t want to read what these people are messaging him; the previews concern him enough. He continues scrolling in mild horror until a notification covers his screen. He has a new match, immediately followed by a new message. 

> **Patty:** dude your bio is terrible

Oh fuck. His profile. 

He navigates to his own profile and sighs. They picked good pictures of him. He had to give them that.

The bio, on the other hand, _was_ terrible.

> _Accounting major by day, wine drunk by night._
> 
> _I love people, places, and things._
> 
> _5’9 and unthreatening._
> 
> _Just looking to lose my virginity._

His friends are goddamn idiots. He knew this, and yet he let this happen. Which makes Stan himself an idiot.

He locks his phone. He stares up at the ceiling of his bedroom and sighs again. 

He takes a moment to check her profile.

Patty, 20 years old, clearly a fellow college student. There are four pictures. In each, she is alone. She’s pretty, with warm brown skin and dark curls to her shoulders. She wears a lot of black, including lipstick. Stan doesn’t know much about makeup, but he can tell that she’s good at it, her brown eyes accentuated by various bright colors. 

He recognizes her, he thinks. He reads her bio. 

> _you’re either a writer or you aren’t; there is no “aspiring.”_
> 
> _taller than you._
> 
> _i’ll message first._

Stan smirks. He’s charmed. He might as well respond.

> **Stan:** Ah. Yes it is. Thanks for alerting me, I’m going to go kill my roommates.
> 
> **Patty:** np sorry to neg you or whatever 
> 
> **Stan:** It’s fine. If I had made this myself, I certainly wouldn’t have mentioned being a virgin. Ugh.
> 
> **Patty:** yeah i had a feeling something was up
> 
> **Patty:** i’m in the same boat but i saw that and was like woah this dude is super fucking brave for advertising it
> 
> **Patty:** how’s that going for you
> 
> **Stan:** Lots of responses from disgusting guys. Surprise, surprise.

He hesitates before sending that message, then admonishes himself. If she has a problem with him being bisexual, he wants to find that out now.

> **Patty:** rip yeah
> 
> **Patty:** the bi tinder experience is guys being gross and girls never messaging first
> 
> **Patty:** ppl think we get twice the options but we actually get twice the shit lol
> 
> **Stan:** Exactly.
> 
> **Stan:** Have we met? You look so familiar.
> 
> **Patty:** hm
> 
> **Patty:** i’ve def seen you around before
> 
> **Patty:** some hillel event maybe?
> 
> **Stan:** Oh, that’s probably it. I’m treasurer.
> 
> **Patty:** :)
> 
> **Patty:** okay get ready here’s my getting to know you question
> 
> **Patty:** what subject would you hate majoring in and why
> 
> **Stan:** Art. I’m not creative. Painting actually stresses me out.
> 
> **Stan:** You?
> 
> **Patty:** accounting
> 
> **Patty:** nah jk i don’t mind math
> 
> **Patty:** i think if i was in anything people-oriented i would want to kill myself tho
> 
> **Stan:** What’s your major?
> 
> **Patty:** english and philosophy-religion
> 
> **Patty:** i read a lot
> 
> **Stan:** So you’re essentially triple majoring.
> 
> **Patty:** yeah the dean won’t let me do it officially
> 
> **Patty:** thank you for answering my dumb question
> 
> **Stan:** I think it’s an interesting question.
> 
> **Patty:** i wish i could keep asking “what’s the grossest thing you’ve ever eaten” but SO MANY GUYS SAY PUSSY
> 
> **Stan:** Oh I hate that.
> 
> **Stan:** Tell someone that you’re disgusted by her body AND imply that you’ll be selfish in bed. Very good strategy. 
> 
> **Patty:** RIGHT like how do they think i’m gonna react to that
> 
> **Stan:** Is it boring if my answer is “anything with cilantro?”
> 
> **Patty:** eh
> 
> **Patty:** do you have the soap gene
> 
> **Stan:** I do.
> 
> **Patty:** the pity i feel for you outweighs the lack of excitement in your answer
> 
> **Stan:** Thank you. My life is very hard.
> 
> **Stan:** What’s your answer?
> 
> **Patty:** food: raw onion and peanut butter sandwich 
> 
> **Patty:** my roommate is a monster
> 
> **Stan:** Your specification concerns me. Do you have a non-food answer?
> 
> **Patty:** styrofoam from a dumpster it was a dare
> 
> **Stan:** Horrifying.
> 
> **Patty:** :)
> 
> **Patty:** so are you actually looking for a hookup or did your roommates totally fuck up your profile
> 
> **Stan:** I guess I am.
> 
> **Patty:** you guess
> 
> **Stan:** Why do you ask?
> 
> **Patty:** i
> 
> **Patty:** why do you think, genius
> 
> **Patty:** i’m interested
> 
> **Patty:** potentially

Stan was not expecting that.

> **Stan:** Oh. Cool.
> 
> **Stan:** Sorry, that was a weird response. I was not expecting that. I think you’re very attractive and I am also interested in you. 
> 
> **Patty:** dork
> 
> **Stan:** That’s me. Sorry.
> 
> **Patty:** it’s cute you’re cute
> 
> **Patty:** how inexperienced are we talking
> 
> **Patty:** it doesn’t matter btw just tryna set my expectations
> 
> **Stan:** You would not be my first kiss.
> 
> **Patty:** promising
> 
> **Patty:** if you’re curious, i’ve made out with people at like parties but nothing really more than that
> 
> **Stan:** Same.
> 
> **Stan:** But feel free to keep your expectations high. I’ve done a lot of reading.

Stan throws his phone across the room. Why the fuck would he say that? He resolves not to check it, trying to avoid complete mortification as long as possible. But he is a weak man. He scrambles for his phone when he hears it vibrate with a new notification. 

> **Patty:** very confident for someone who’s never done it before
> 
> **Patty:** hmm
> 
> **Stan:** Hmm?

She doesn’t respond for twenty minutes. Stan tries not to overthink it. He fails. He traipses downstairs and tries to look normal. He finds Richie and Eddie sitting at the table, talking quietly over cups of coffee. Stan takes some himself - he knows the mugs are clean, after all - and silently joins them. Eddie watches him with concern until Stan waves a hand and tries to pass his silent anxiety off as a hangover. 

Stan feels his phone vibrate in his pocket and reaches for it calmly, resigned. 

> **Patty:** yeah ok i’m sold
> 
> **Patty:** want to meet up? i’m free saturday
> 
> **Stan:** Absolutely. 
> 
> **Patty:** :)
> 
> **Patty:** text me i feel like a loser using this app in public

The last message is her phone number.

Stan raises his head and narrows his eyes. He puts his phone face down on the table. 

“I think I’m going to sleep with someone?” he says to the room.

Eddie looks up from his own phone, puzzled. “You think?”

“Yes. I don’t know. We have plans to meet up. I’m just. It was… easier than I expected.”

“See! I knew it would work out,” Eddie says.

Stan raises his shoulders. “That remains to be seen.”

“What’s his name?” Richie asks, scooting himself over to the seat next to Stan.

 _“Her_ name is Patty. I think she’s also a junior.” Stan pulls up her profile. 

“Gasp. A woman,” Richie peeks at Stan’s phone. “Oh! Patty Blum! Holy shit, yes, I know her. She’s hilarious.”

Stan secretly thinks that Richie is the funniest person he knows, so he trusts his judgment. “What do you think about her? Do you approve?” Stan asks, tries to impart the seriousness of his question. 

“I mean. Okay. First of all, I had no idea she was into dudes. And I would not have pegged her as your type, she’s…” 

Richie stops talking for a moment, which is never a good sign. He looks at Eddie, who shrugs and grimaces.

Richie faces Stan directly. “Patty… She. Well. God, she’s such a bitch, I’m not gonna lie.”

“Ah,” Stan says.

“But she’s really cute! So!” Richie’s smile doesn’t reach his eyes.

* * *

That Saturday is a cool night in October.

Stan buries his hands in his coat pockets as he waits for the bus. He rubs his thumb against the smooth edges of his fingernails. He thinks about texting Patty to cancel even as his body buzzes with anticipation. He’s nervous because this will be his first time, obviously, and he’s nervous about Patty being mean. They’ve only exchanged a few messages since their initial conversation, but they’ve been pleasant. Richie hasn’t exactly elaborated on the bitch comment, just telling Stan that “you’ll see what I mean.” He’s barely aware of the fact that he bounces his leg the whole ride over. 

His brain is a blur when he arrives to her house. She opens the door before he can decide if it’s a better idea to ring the doorbell or knock. 

She’s fucking gorgeous in person. She’s wearing a low-cut dress and Stan focuses on looking at her face _only._ He is aware of the absurdity of this, considering they are supposed to have sex in a moment, but. He looks at her face. Her eyes are dark, glittery. No lipstick from what Stan can tell, which he supposes is a good thing, because. Her mouth. Uh.

“Hey,” Patty says. She pulls him into a half-hug.

Stan does not hug, as a rule. He tries to push through it, moving mechanically. It’s awkward. He’s sure he’s not inspiring confidence in his physical abilities. 

“Hi,” he says, finally. “Fuck, sorry I’m the most awkward person alive.”

She motions Stan inside and closes the door behind him. “Mmhmm. Pointing out how awkward a situation is. The best way to make it less awkward.”

Stan cringes. “Whoops.”

Patty’s laugh is endearing. “No, it’s okay, this is weird for me too, obviously. I’ve never done this before.”

The thing is, Patty doesn’t look nervous. Stan knows he looks like the physical manifestation of anxiety. It’s unfair. 

“I’m still- Okay,” Stan says. “I’m still surprised you’re interested in me.”

Patty shrugs. “You’re cute and you give off good vibes. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“If I said you’re out of my league…”

“We’re firmly in the same league,” she rolls her eyes. “I promise you.”

He smiles. She takes his jacket and shows him where to leave his shoes. He follows her up the stairs. He stops in the bathroom to wash his hands. Stan knows she must have roommates but he has neither seen nor heard them. He wills his mind to believe that they are alone in the house.

Patty’s room is illuminated by several strings of multicolored LED lights. It’s cluttered but not what Stan would call unclean. Her desk is piled with stacks of paper and textbooks. Stan spots an uncapped highlighter that he itches to fix, but he restrains himself. 

Her bed - bigger than a twin, thank God - looks hastily made. The deep purple comforter is rumpled. He doesn’t want to sit down on it, not until he’s invited to, _if_ he’s invited to - they’ll have sex on the bed, right? That’s what he’s expecting. 

He turns his head and is startled to find Patty observing him. 

“Hi,” Stan says.

“Hi,” Patty bites her lip. Stan stares.

“I like your room.”

“Thanks.”

“We should probably kiss.”

“Probably.” 

She’s taller than him. Not tremendously so, less than four inches, but it’s enough that he has to tilt his head up to kiss her. She ducks down to meet him. Their mouths move together comfortably, like they’ve done this before. Stan loses himself in it. His brain sits at a comfortable simmer; his only thoughts are her fingers tangled in his hair, the softness of her tongue, and her scent: citrusy, bright.

Patty breaks the kiss, her hand still on the back of his neck, and says, “D’you mind if I skip ahead and just get naked?”

Stan shakes his head, an answer and a show of surprise. “I would not complain.”

She takes a step back and pulls at the sleeve of her dress. “Thanks. This bra _does not_ fit, I don’t know why the fuck I wore it.”

“Well, your boobs look great,” Stan says, like an idiot.

She points at him. “That’s why.”

Frozen in his embarrassment, still half-dazed from the kissing, he waits for her to undress. She isn’t wearing many layers. It’s like Stan blinks and suddenly she’s wearing nothing at all. 

“I should probably…” Stan tugs at his own shirt.

Patty nods, amusement evident. She bends over to gather her discarded clothing, and Stan forces himself not to look at her.

He’s allowed to look at her? He’s allowed to look at her. But he doesn’t. He methodically unbuttons his shirt, then folds it neatly before setting it down on the dresser beside him. He hears Patty sit on the bed. He tries not to think about her watching him. He hates when people see him half-dressed; he avoids it whenever possible. He always brought a change of clothes with him when he showered, so his roommates wouldn’t catch him shirtless, for fuck’s sake.

Patty is about to see him in a lot less than a towel, and he’s not sure how to process that. He unbuckles his belt, and the ensuing clang is mortifying. Maybe this was a mistake.

“You are _so_ hot,” Patty says. Stan, startled, looks up fast enough to see her eyes drifting down his chest and that’s. Well.

He blushes. He know he does; he feels it.

“Thanks,” he says quietly. “Um.”

He’s still fumbling with his belt when he hears Patty stand and step closer to him. “Need some help with that?”

He meets her eyes and she smiles at him. 

“Relax,” she says, stepping closer to him still. “I’m not gonna bite.”

He’s grateful she doesn’t say the cliché followup. He shakes his head to clear it. He takes a deep breath. He lets himself glance at her body. He feels warm.

She kisses him. It’s a welcome distraction. He slips his tongue into her mouth as she pulls the rest of his clothing down. Patty laughs when he tries to step out of them without breaking the kiss. It’s not unkind. 

It unfolds very quickly, from there. Patty backs the two of them up to the bed. His hand finds the underside of her breast. She kisses up his neck. She slots her leg in between his. He can feel her, warm and wet against his thigh. There’s a slide when she inches forward to kiss him deeper. He’s aching to touch her. 

Stan pulls back from the kiss. “Can I eat you out?”

“Yeah,” she exhales.

He’s too enthralled to feel embarrassed. Patty scoots further up on the bed to make room for him. He settles between her spread legs. He wants to stare at her, the first person to lay naked in front of him, _for him,_ but the last thing he wants to do is make her feel self-conscious. Instead, he grins at her encouragingly, then quickly kisses the soft skin of her abdomen. He lays down fully, gets himself comfortable. Stan rubs his nose against the tuft of hair. Inhales. Looks up at her. They lock eyes as he moves lower.

He licks at her clit, once, gently. Her eyes flutter closed when he does it again. He continues, watching her face for feedback. 

He sees Patty tilt her head to the side, eyes still closed. “Hey can you- a little to your left?” she says.

Stan readjusts, licks again. “Yeah?”

Patty exhales shakily and nods. Stan grins and tightens his grip on her thigh. He brings his mouth to her again, trying to repeat what he just did, trying to get out of his head and let his instincts take over.

Stan is aware of several sounds: his own harsh breathing, her skin slipping against the sheets as she rocks into him, and a wetness that is intoxicating. She doesn’t moan. Stan doesn’t mind. As the movement of her hips becomes more insistent, he pulls her closer to him. 

_“Fuck,”_ Patty whines. 

Stan closes his eyes as her legs constrict his head. He continues until Patty twitches away from him. He moves, resting his weight on his elbows, and rubs circles on her upper thigh. 

“Good?” he asks.

Patty hums, half-smiling, her eyes shut. 

He takes a moment to look at her while she catches her breath. She’s so _pretty._

Stan silently wonders how someone could fake an orgasm. He watches her clenching in a way that seems involuntary, little waves every few seconds. Impossible not to notice when you’re up close. He assumes he would be able to feel that if he was. If he was inside her. Fuck.

His hand is still resting on the inside of her thigh. He tightens his grip to see if he can get her attention. Nothing.

He blows a light stream of air in the general direction of her clit, and Patty’s hips buck toward him. “Did I kill you?”

She laughs and lifts her head. “I’m alive. Having fun down there?” Her voice is soft.

If he trusted himself to wink without fucking it up, he would. Instead, Stan lowers his face again and says, his lips centimeters from her, “Can I keep going or are you too sensitive?”

In lieu of replying, Patty lifts her hips, closing the distance. 

It’s easier to get her there the second time. He gets the hang of where she wants him to be, then tries new movements. His tongue drifts lower, where her taste is stronger. He loses himself in the sensations. He catalogues her changes in breathing and adjusts automatically. She’s more responsive this time, louder, intermittently cursing in a voice that drives Stan crazy. He’s chasing her next sound when he feels her legs flex.

She recovers from this orgasm faster, sitting up after a minute or so. 

“You made me come. Twice,” Patty says, narrowing her eyes at him.

“What, like it’s hard?” Stan says, flatly. He wipes his mouth off with the back of his hand.

Patty laughs and hangs her head. “Alright, Elle Woods. What now?”

Stan shifts to rest his weight on his left elbow, then taps the fingers of his right hand haphazardly on her leg. “I’d like to try fingering you, if you’re down for that.”

“I’m down. What the fuck.”

Stan nods. He sits up and leans back to see what he’s doing. He drifts his finger down, dipping inside of her. When it’s halfway inside, he pauses, unsure.

“You okay?” he asks.

“Yep. You’re not gonna break me,” she says. 

Stan resumes his movement. In then partially out, slow, his eyes searching Patty’s face for reactions. She’s looking right back at him, which should make him nervous. It doesn’t.

Stan notices her hips moving more when she says, “I can do a second one.”

He smiles at her, pulls his finger out, replaces it with his middle and index. Patty hums and grabs at his free arm, looking like she wants to pull him closer. 

He rests his left thumb on her clit, and rubs one gentle circle. Patty makes a needy sound, then coughs. 

He shakes his head. “You’re so hot,” he breathes out. 

Stan keeps his movement as consistent as he can, but finds he had more control and precision with his tongue. He wonders if he can get his mouth on her at the same time. 

Stan moves the hand touching her clit. He raises his index finger when Patty looks at him curiously. _Pause._ Without pulling out his fingers, he shifts himself back down. He rests his weight on his free arm and lowers his head so he can lick at her again. The angle isn’t the greatest, and he messes up the rhythm he had going, but Patty gasps and grabs at his hair, tugging him closer, so Stan guesses it was worth it. She comes a third time with shaking legs and a drawn out _fuck_. 

Patty looks inexplicably frustrated when he makes eye contact with her again. 

“What?” Stan says. 

“Can’t believe I’m saying this. Stan,” she says, cupping his face and making him look her in the eye. “Stop making me come. Let me touch you.”

Stan blinks. “Oh. Right. Yeah.”

He sits up. She brings her knees together. They stare.

“Here, lay down. You look like you’re gonna pass out,” she says. She moves and pats the space on the bed where she just was. There’s a small wet spot. Stan did that.

He switches place with Patty and he feels like he scaled a mountain. His lungs are filled with lead and his heart is pounding erratically. Whatever confident haze came over him when his face was between her legs is gone now; he’s fucking nervous. Patty climbs on top of him and he’s suddenly embarrassed that he’s hard.

He has to look at his own body now, which he doesn’t hate, but he doesn’t love. He guesses he makes a face, or perhaps she notices the way he’s avoiding looking at anything, because Patty is suddenly concerned. 

“If you- hey. If you want to stop, we can,” she says, her eyebrows knitted.

Stan considers it. 

His body is buzzing with anxiety, and he’s trying not to spiral. But he was doing well, he thinks, he thinks it was going well overall, and now he can’t help but feel like he’s ruining it. If they stop now… He doesn’t know if Patty would agree to sleep with him a second time. He doesn’t need to have sex with Patty, necessarily, he could find someone else. He isn’t keen to start that whole process over again, but he could. And what they’ve done already… It counts. He’s not a virgin anymore, he doesn’t need to penetrate her to-

He looks at her hovering over him, how close they are to touching. He rubs his palm down the soft curve of her thigh. 

He wants. 

“No,” he swallows. “Let’s. Yeah.”

“I need a complete sentence, hon.”

Stan laughs and ducks his head. “Sorry. I don’t want to stop. I’m just nervous.”

“Shit, you’re nervous? Couldn’t tell,” Patty huffs out a laugh. She kisses him, small and quick. 

He tries closing his eyes. Maybe that will help, if he doesn’t watch. 

Her hand grazes his cock and his eyes shoot open. Patty pauses.

“I’m trying to figure out how to make you comfortable,” she says, narrowing her eyes. 

Stan wants to apologize. To tell her that maybe they should stop, not because he wants to stop, he wants to do this so fucking bad, he just can’t. 

“I was going to blow you, but I’m sensing that you can’t handle being the center of attention right now,” Patty says, sliding off of him. 

All Stan can say is, “Um.”

She nods. “I think… Tell me if this makes sense. I think I can get you off if you believe you’re doing something for me. You’re shying away from me touching you, I _think_ because it’s one-sided. It might be better if you fuck me, like if we skip to penetration, so that your brain recognizes it as a mutually pleasurable activity.” 

Stan blinks.

“Maybe I’ve freaked you out by psychoanalyzing you in bed. That’s possible too,” she says, her voice quiet. She looks down at her own hands and it’s the first time that Stan thinks she looks nervous.

He sits up, pulls her face to his, kisses her. “I’m not freaked out,” he says, and it’s not true, not exactly. But he isn’t freaked out by Patty. He just met this girl - woman - and he feels safe with her. She understands him, somehow. “I think you’re right.”

Her smile is small. He kisses her until it turns genuine.

“Do you need-” Stan starts, unsure if she will understand. He knows she came three times - holy shit - but he also knows he’s ruined the mood somewhat. 

“Quit worrying about me, Stan. I’m good.”

Patty takes his hand and places it between her legs, so he can feel for himself.

He squirms. “Oh. Yeah, you’re. Yeah.”

Stan starts to pull his hand away, but Patty stops him. “Keep touching me?”

He kisses her arm, the closest part that he can reach. He’s happy to play with her clit, even if she doesn’t _need_ it. 

“Do you want to lay down, or-” Stan says.

Patty shakes her head. Smirks down at him. “I’ll be on top, it’s cool. I don’t mind doing all the work.”

Stan wants to protest, but then she takes him in her hand. “Keep touching me,” she says as she pumps her wrist. 

“Mutually pleasurable,” he says, trying to memorize the feeling of her hand. She grins at him.

Putting on the condom is a non-event; Stan has practiced. Some nerves creep in when she straddles him, but Patty distracts him with a kiss when she guides his cock inside her. She settles. She waits to see if _he_ feels okay, which admittedly feels backwards, but Stan’s delighted to hear that there’s no pain on her end. He gives her the okay to move. 

Stan is struck by the warmth. He knew she would feel warm, obviously, but.

“Hi,” she sticks her tongue out at him. The rocking of her hips is careful. She’s resting her hands on his shoulders, watching him. Stan breathes heavier, makes sure she can hear it. She deserves the feedback; it’s her first time too. 

“Hi,” he says, his voice shaky. 

Stan tries to move his hips so she isn’t actually doing all the work. He messes up Patty’s rhythm in the process. He gives up. Next time. He puts his hands on her hips, gripping lightly, and feels encouraged by her soft noise. He tries to focus, get out of his head. He can’t. And yet.

“I’m- Not gonna last long. Fuck,” Stan huffs out.

Patty smiles down at him. “You don’t need to.”

He looks at her helplessly. _Beautiful._

Patty kisses him through his orgasm, cradling his head in her hands. 

She flops down next to Stan as he recovers, bats his hands away when it looks like he might try to get her off again. Stan spends a few minutes of comfortable silence with Patty and a mostly quiet head. He moves when that comfortable feeling starts to become drowsiness; he’s not sleeping here. 

“Do you feel transformed?” Patty says, trailing her fingers up his arm. 

“Mmhmm. I’m a real man now,” Stan says, and Patty nods solemnly. They both laugh. “But seriously, this was fun. Thank you.”

Maybe it’s dorky to thank someone after sex - Patty, amused, gives him a firm handshake like they just settled a business deal - but Stan feels grateful. Patty watches him put his clothes back on, and he finds he doesn’t mind it. 

She’s covering herself with a blanket. “Because I’m cold,” she explains. “I think you’re well aware of what my tits look like at this point.”

Stan laughs as does up the last of his buttons. He looks at her desk. He spots that highlighter again. He picks it up, tests the ink on the tip of his middle finger. Nods. Caps it. He looks up and sees Patty watching him curiously.

“The cap wasn’t on- It didn’t dry out, I checked,” Stan explains.

She raises an eyebrow. “Were you thinking about that the entire time?” Patty asks.

“Not the _entire_ time.”

She throws a pillow at him.

Stan orders an Uber. Two minutes before it’s set to arrive, Patty gets dressed to walk him to the front door. He isn’t sure if it would be okay to kiss her, now that they’ve shattered their bubble. He opts not to. 

“See you around,” Patty says, squeezing his fist. 

Stan shoots her a smile as he leaves, noticing the growing ache in his jaw.

* * *

The next time Stan sees Patty is a week later in his own home.

Bill is throwing some sort of party; their house has become a haven for English and theater majors. Generally an insufferable crowd, in Stan’s view. But he’s polite when he makes his required appearance, drifting down the stairs and saying hello to people he knows casually. 

Stan’s walking through the crowd when he thinks he hears Audra’s voice. He speedwalks away. He turns a corner and nearly smacks into someone leaning against the wall. 

“Stan? What are you doing here?” Patty asks.

Patty’s arms are crossed. Her left hand is clutching her cell phone. She’s dressed in all black, skinny jeans and a hooded sweatshirt. Her lips are black and her eyes are lined in hot pink. 

Stan quickly recovers from the surprise of seeing her. He raises his eyebrows. “I live here.”

“Oh my God. Your roommate is my sworn enemy.”

Stan laughs sharply, surprised. “Who? Bill? Why?”

She rolls her eyes. “He’s my co-Editor in Chief.”

“Say no more,” Stan shakes his head.

Stan has heard many stories about the fights that arise between the members of the executive board of the on-campus literary magazine. He always pretends to take Bill’s side of the arguments, of course. But he’s sure he’s silently agreed with Patty at some point. 

“How’d you end up living with that asshole?” Patty asks. 

“Freshman year I lived with Eddie,” Stan nods in his direction. Eddie’s sitting on the couch, his arm slung around Richie’s shoulders. 

“Oh, that’s the boyfriend. I haven’t met him yet,” Patty says.

He is briefly concerned that Patty thinks Eddie is _Stan’s_ boyfriend before he realizes. “You’re friends with Richie, right.”

“Eh. Acquaintances,” Patty wiggles her hand. “Comedic associates. I like him, even though his shit’s gotten so fucking sappy lately.”

“ _My boyfriend,”_ Stan and Patty imitate simultaneously. Stan snorts at Patty theatrically clutching her chest.

“So um,” Stan continues. “Shared a dorm with Eddie freshman year. On-campus apartment sophomore year was the four of us but I shared a room with Bill. Which was a disaster, by the way, he’s a fucking slob-”

“Okay. Nope. Storytime over. The less I know about Bill’s personal life, the better,” Patty interrupts. 

Stan smiles at her. 

“Why are _you_ here, if you hate Bill so much?” Stan asks. He moves so they’re facing the same direction, mirroring her position leaning against the wall. 

“Oh my God. So my roommate, Mike - Hanlon? Do you know him? Tall guy, over there - Mike is so into Bill it makes me _gag._ ”

Stan nods. “He dragged you here?”

“I volunteered, I guess. Someone has to monitor the situation.”

“You look miserable.”

“My best friend is trying to fuck my nemesis. I’m having a blast.”

“He should go for it. Bill’s really easy. I say that with love,” Stan adds. 

“His plan is to play hard to get,” Patty sighs.

“Oh, excellent. I love a good trainwreck.”

They watch the party. The silence isn’t uncomfortable. He wants to keep talking to her, but he’s at a loss for what to say. 

“Can I get you a drink or something?” Stan asks.

“Can’t. Driving,” she jangles her keys slightly.

He could get her something nonalcoholic, but he figures that was implied. Stan nods and turns his attention to the wider room. He feels like he’s running out of excuses to keep standing with her, until he spots one.

He glances to his left and notices that Patty is looking down at her shoes. He taps her shoulder, then points at the far corner of the room.

Bill is talking animatedly about something with a semicircle of people around him, including Mike. Mike makes a show of checking his phone as though he isn’t hanging on Bill’s every word. 

“Pathetic,” Patty shakes her head. Stan hoped that this would invite her to complain more, but her attention returns to her shoes. 

Well. Maybe he’s overstayed his welcome. 

“Shall I leave you to wallow in your misery?” Stan says. She crinkles her eyes at him and he lowers his voice. “Seriously, I’ll uh. Quit bothering you. Nice to see you again.”

Stan turns quickly, hoping to slink away before he can see her reaction. He feels her hand grasp lightly at his arm. 

“Wait. You aren’t bothering me,” Patty says. She’s still touching him. “I just hate parties and I’m bad at conversation.”

“I hate parties and I love talking to you,” Stan says. 

They smile at each other. Patty closes her eyes when the room gets louder. She purses her lips, then looks Stan in the eye. 

“...Can I see your room?”

Stan tilts his head. “You want to see my room?”

Patty crosses her arms. Waits.

 _“Oh._ You want to _see_ my _room._ Yeah. Yes. Sure,” Stan says, offering his hand. She takes it. 

He leads her upstairs.

“It’s so clean,” Patty pauses in the doorway of Stan’s bedroom. “You made your bed?”

“I always make my bed,” Stan says, gesturing for her to enter. He closes the door behind them. It feels presumptuous to lock it, but he does so anyway. The din of the party below is only slightly muffled by the thin walls.

He turns around to find Patty inspecting his desk. Stan watches her grab a dry erase marker - purple - and draw a small smiley face in the corner of his whiteboard calendar. 

She turns around and says, “Are you going to give me a room tour?”

“Is that a euphemism?”

“Nah. I’m nosy so I want to see whatever nerd shit you have hidden in here, and then I want to fuck.” She turns and continues snooping. 

Stan bites back a grin, his stomach fluttering. Not presumptuous. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content warnings: explicit sexual content, stan nearly has a panic attack during sex but it’s fine, needles, suicide joke kind of, menstruation, alcohol mention

They sleep together five more times that week. 

Stan doesn’t mean to make it a near-daily occurrence. It just happens. After Patty leaves his room the night of the party, Stan notices that she forgot her bracelet on his desk. He texts her about it the next morning. She invites him over so he can bring it back. Patty thanks him with a hug and well. Her bed is right there. 

The excuses get flimsier. 

That Thursday night, Stan finds himself once again waiting outside of Patty’s house. The cold air makes his skin feel tight. He’s taken to carrying condoms at all times, just in case, which makes him want to roll his eyes at himself. He can’t believe he’s become that guy. To be fair, he knows they’re going to have sex; Patty’s invitation was pretty blunt.

> **Patty:** are you busy rn
> 
> **Stan:** I’m currently laying in the dark, staring at my bedroom ceiling.
> 
> **Stan:** So no.
> 
> **Patty:** how good are you at stats
> 
> **Stan:** Very.
> 
> **Patty:** fantastic
> 
> **Patty:** i will trade sexual favors for help with this assignment

The guy who answers the door looks like he could obliterate Stan. Tall, muscular, tan; attractive in every way Stan is not. His eyes have a thick ring of eyeliner, artfully smudged. 

“Hey,” the guy greets him, his voice deep and betraying no emotion.

Stan stiffens. He hasn’t formally met any of her roommates yet. 

“Um, hey,” Stan squeaks. He fiddles with the strap of his backpack. “I’m, um. I’m here for-”

“He’s here for me!” Patty calls out. 

The guy presses his lips together but opens the door wider, and Stan takes a hesitant step inside. Patty, from below, looks like an angel. She’s hanging halfway over the banister. Her loose tank top is inappropriate for the weather. 

Stan swallows. He gives her a small wave. She grins down at him; her dark shorts ride up as she descends the stairs. 

When Patty reaches him, Stan notices that her roommate is gone. He must have slunk away to another room while Stan was distracted. Unsettling.

“You okay?” Patty asks, shutting and locking the door. 

“Yep, just worried your roommate is going to bite me,” Stan mutters.

“Ben? Oh my God, no, he’s the sweetest. He’s just shy. You’d like him.”

Stan heads up the stairs first - he is quite familiar with the path to her bedroom at this point. Patty follows two steps behind.

She’s given up on cleaning her room for him, Stan sees. Patty’s desk is messier than he’s ever seen it and there’s a pile of dirty clothes at the foot of the bed. She kicks the clothes to make space for him to walk. 

“You know I’m more than happy to help you,” Stan says, unzipping his bag. “This doesn’t have to be transactional.”

Patty snorts and plops down onto the bed. “You’re ridiculous.”

“What?” 

He sits next to her. She doesn’t answer him. She grabs her laptop, pulls up a window of SPSS, then balances it on Stan’s left knee. He clicks on a few things, she types in a few numbers - Stan is overwhelmed by the sensation of her leaning over him - and then it’s done.

“So that took two minutes,” Stan says pointedly.

“Thanks, couldn’t have done it without you,” Patty says. She removes her computer and taps her finger against his knee. Her short nails are painted black. 

“Really, it’s almost like you didn’t need my help at all.” He raises an eyebrow.

Patty pouts, exaggerated. “No. I’m really struggling with that class. My midterm was like, an A-minus.”

Stan laughs. “Is that your lowest grade?”

“Don’t make fun of me,” she says. “Yes.”

Stan grins wider. “Wow. You’re a nerd.”

“Sorry to break this to you, but you are also a nerd, Stan.”

They reposition themselves so they are facing each other. Patty moves her legs so they are crossing over his, nearly sitting in Stan’s lap. 

He tilts his head to look her in the eye. “I seem to recall a certain someone saying that she doesn’t mind math? Pretty curious that she would need help for such a simple assignment…”

“Fine, you caught me. I don’t need help. I want to have sex with you,” Patty says.

“Devious,” Stan says, rubbing his palm down her bare thigh. “You know you can just tell me you want to sleep with me and I’ll come over. No cover story necessary.”

“Can I?”

She bites her lip, eyebrows drawn. 

Stan blinks. “Yes. Yeah.”

“Are we…” Patty backs up. “What are we doing?”

“Um,” Stan starts. He clears his throat. Looks down at his folded hands. “We’re.”

What are they doing?

They aren’t dating. He wanted to sleep with someone; that was the point of this. It was supposed to be a one time thing. Does she want to date? Does _he_ want to date? Is he a bad person if he doesn’t? He likes having sex with her. Obviously he can’t say that. That would be idiotic. And. Objectifying? 

“I want to keep hooking up with you on a regular basis,” Patty says, mercifully. “You’ve, like, awakened something in me.”

She’s so good at breaking the tension. They both laugh lightly. 

“Yeah, I know what you mean,” Stan risks making eye contact with her. “I feel really comfortable with you.”

Patty rolls her eyes, but her smile is fond. “You feel moderately comfortable with me.”

“I feel more comfortable with you than I would with anyone else.”

“There we go.”

They sit in silence, both staring down at their own legs. Stan realizes it is his turn to say something. He feels his face heat up, but pushes through it. 

“Um. So. I like what we’re doing. I honestly… didn’t think we would get this far. I’ve, um. Ghosted everyone who has ever been interested in me. I’m not good at. Ugh. Sorry, you don’t need to hear this-”

“No, you can talk to me,” Patty says. She takes his hand.

Stan sighs. If he’s going to say this, he can’t look at her. “I’m not good at relationships. Everyone I’ve dated- I’m really bad at being a boyfriend. I don’t know if I’m meant for it. I want to be, but no matter how great things start, it always fizzles out so quickly and I panic and I push them away and I-I think you’re really great, and I don’t want to do that to you. Avoid you because I’m overwhelmed. Y’know?”

He sees Patty nod in his peripheral. “You are afraid of commitment not because of the commitment itself, but because you are afraid that you will be a disappointment, whether or not you follow through. You try not to get close to anyone romantically because. I don’t know. You think they’ll think you’re… Boring? Weak?”

“And emotionless,” Stan offers.

“And emotionless. That’s bullshit, but you’re not going to realize that until you risk letting yourself be vulnerable with someone,” she nods and strokes his hand. “But you’re not ready for that right now. And that’s okay.”

“How do you do that?” Stan asks.

“What?”

“Read my thoughts better than I can.”

Patty shrugs. “It’s a gift and a curse. Thank you for sharing with me.”

She releases his hand. 

“So, neither one of us is looking for something serious, right?”

“Right,” Stan nods. He swallows down an unidentifiable feeling. Is he lying? He’s not sure.

“Good. I don’t need a boyfriend, Stan. I want sex,” she smiles. “Don’t beat yourself up about feeling the same.”

He looks at her. “Just sex.”

She nods. “Just sex. We have a good thing going here, and for the record, I’m pretty much down whenever.”

Stan folds his hands. “So we’re…”

“Like, friends with benefits,” she says, sounding like she’s embarrassed of the term. 

It is a little funny, Stan thinks. But maybe exactly what he needs. He has friends, he’s good at being a friend. It’s much less pressure. 

“I don’t know… That might be too serious of a label. You really consider me a friend?” he teases.

“You’re one of maybe five people I can tolerate,” Patty shoves at his hands. “I’m willing to upgrade you to friend status.”

“I feel so special.”

“You should.”

They grin.

“Okay,” Stan says. “Let’s do it.”

“Okay,” Patty says. They shake on it.

Patty keeps his hand in hers, tracing the lines on his palm. “So are you sticking around?” she says. “Or have I ruined things for the evening? Debasing myself by playing dumb.”

“I must admit, Genius Patty is much hotter.”

“I’m not a _genius_ ,” she bats at his arm with her free hand. She lets it linger on his bicep, then scoots closer to him, bunching up the bedding. Stan smooths the fabric back into place. She guides his hand back to her leg. He leans so his forehead is resting against hers. 

“I may be conditioning myself to want sex whenever I see you,” Stan says.

“I think that’s just how attraction works,” Patty says, brushing her lips against his. “But what do I know?” 

“Oh, you’re attracted to me?” Stan asks, a breath away from kissing her. 

She ducks her head and presses her lips to his neck instead. 

“Yeah. Very,” she says into his skin, and guides his hand again.

* * *

“The biggest thing is making sure not to catch feelings,” Bill says. He takes the seat across from Stan at their dining table.

Stan can’t believe he’s resorting to asking Bill for advice. But he nods anyway. “No feelings. Total detachment,” Stan says.

“Not what I said, man,” Bill huffs out a laugh. “You can be friendly. It’s in the name. But limit how much time you spend together. Don’t go on dates. Don’t, uh, buy him flowers or write him poetry or flip out if you see him flirt with another guy.”

“Speaking from personal experience?”

“Maybe. Never mind. Point is, it’s not like a relationship. Different rules, different goals. And if you do start feeling attached to the person, you have to talk about it, and most likely end things.”

“I think I’ll be okay,” Stan says. Stan Uris, growing attached to someone romantically? It would take a fucking miracle.

“No one goes into this thinking they’ll be the one to develop feelings,” Bill gesticulates. “You never know.”

Bill drops his hands, pauses, and gently smiles at Stan.

“Get your romantic germs away from me,” Stan says, pulling his hands out of Bill’s reach. He spots a potential Tender Friendship Moment in Bill’s eyes, and he wants no part of it.

“Embrace it, Stanley, I know there’s a romantic spirit locked up inside you.”

“A man cries at one engagement ring commercial…” 

Bill laughs. “I’m kidding. I love you. I know you’ve had a difficult time with sex and relationships, and it’s so nice to hear you’re becoming more comfortable with yourself. I’m happy for you. As long as you two are on the same page, friends with benefits can be a great thing.”

“Fucking hell, enough with the inspirational speech, I get it.”

Bill looks at him expectantly.

“I love you too,” Stan adds, begrudgingly. 

Bill smiles. 

“So. Do I know the person?” he asks casually. 

“You do,” Stan says, then pauses. “I’m not sure if she would want you to know.” Stan’s not sure if she wants anyone to know, honestly. They aren’t _together_. 

Bill accepts that answer. But Stan finds himself reaching for his phone, anyway.

> **Stan:** Hey, can I tell Bill about us?
> 
> **Stan:** Completely fine if the answer is no.
> 
> **Patty:** uh yeah
> 
> **Patty:** was i supposed to be keeping you a secret from my roommates
> 
> **Patty:** bc i was not

Stan locks his phone. Bill is writing something in a notebook, his handwriting heavy, knees tucked against his chest. Stan is hyper aware of the scratch of the pen against the paper, the only sound in the room besides the drone of the refrigerator. The moment has passed. He doesn’t need to tell Bill. But he told Patty he was telling Bill, so wouldn’t it be more strange to keep it a secret? 

Stan clears his throat. Bill looks at him.

“So uh. I’m sleeping with Patty Blum,” Stan says.

Bill is visibly startled and confused. 

“ _Patty?_ Wow. Huh.” Bill’s feet slide to the ground, and he shuts his notebook. He frowns and starts messing with his pen. 

“What?” Stan says, crossing his arms. If Bill says anything rude about her… 

Bill’s eyes widen. “N-Nothing, nothing. It’s um… Weird.”

Stan bristles. 

“Surprising,” Bill corrects himself. He shakes his head. “Shit. Can’t picture that at all.”

Stan sighs. “I don’t need you to picture us having sex.”

“Well, now I am,” Bill says, staring off into the distance.

Stan sighs again. Then he reaches across the table to flick Bill on the arm.

“Ow. What?” 

Stan sits back in his chair. “Just. Ugh. She’ll probably be over a lot. Don’t be weird about it. I know you don’t like her-”

“I _adore_ Patty,” Bill says. He sounds sincere. Bill is always sincere.

“Really?” Stan frowns.

“Yes!”

“You fight all the time.”

“We- yes. Sure. We butt heads frequently but… I have so much respect for her, you know?” 

Stan narrows his eyes.

Bill nods emphatically, and continues. “She’s smarter and more talented than me, and she knows it. Working alongside her… pushes me to be better. You know? And she’s funny. Confident. Always willing to speak her mind.”

“Is that code for bitchy?”

“No. It’s a positive thing. Admirable.”

Stan stops glaring. “Okay. Good,” he says quietly. 

Bill tries to reach for Stan’s hand, then thinks better of it. “You’re very different people from very different parts of my life. That’s all. No judgment.”

Stan lets the conversation drop there. 

* * *

They accidentally meet at a coffee shop just off campus.

Stan is looking for somewhere loud to study when he spots a familiar face. He takes a moment to watch her from across the room. Patty’s alone, wearing large headphones and dark lipstick. One sleeve of her cardigan is rolled up. She looks like she’s copying lines from a textbook. 

He hasn’t decided whether or not he is going to approach her when Patty looks up. They make eye contact and she wiggles her fingers at him. He gives her a small wave back. She gestures for him to walk over, so he does, awkwardly navigating the maze of occupied space. 

She removes her headphones. “Hey, you.”

This close, he can see that her lipstick is really a deep shade of purple. 

“Hey. It’s packed in here,” Stan says, stupidly. 

“It sure is. Here, do you want to share a table? I promise I won’t bug you, I have shit to do.”

He shouldn’t. 

He takes the seat across from her. She grins at him and starts to clear her papers from his side of the table. 

“I have an essay,” he says, pulling his laptop out of his bag.

“Me too. In the outlining stage right now.”

“You don’t seem like the type to outline before you write.”

“Oh, for little things I don’t. But this is a thirty page research paper.”

Stan wants to ask what it’s about. But he doesn’t. 

She points her thumb in the direction of the menu board. “Want anything? I’ll pay as long as you let me judge your order.”

Stan smiles. She’s cute. 

“I have a feeling you’ll judge my order regardless.”

Patty sticks her tongue out. “Correct. Former barista. Can’t help it. What do you want?” 

“A hot tea. It’s after 5:00, so herbal. Something mint, if they have it.”

“Milk or sugar or anything?”

“Just hot water and a tea bag.”

“Simple. Good man,” Patty shoots him a thumbs up and spins around. She heads to the counter. Stan watches her order, too far away to make out what she’s saying, but close enough to see her deposit the change into the tip jar.

Patty returns with two identical cups. “I got the same thing,” she explains as she hands one to Stan. “I’m picky about everything except hot drinks.”

“So you’re picky about cold drinks?” He removes the lid of his cup and blows at his tea. 

“You could say that.”

“I’m intrigued. Elaborate.”

“Iced coffee is bullshit.” She smirks and raises an eyebrow, challenging.

“What?” Stan says, surprised, delighted. “What does that mean?”

She grins. “It’s disgusting, it shouldn’t exist, and I am irritated when I see people drinking it. Coffee is meant to be made with hot water, and you should drink it hot. That’s it.”

“I have never heard that opinion before. What? How do you-” Stan shakes his head. “I was going to make a joke about you getting kicked out of the LGBT community, but how do you function in society? I understand not drinking it, whatever. But you get _angry_ about iced coffee?”

“Enraged. You see why I’m a _former_ barista.”

He beams at her.

“Shit, sorry,” Patty says. “I said I wasn’t gonna distract you.”

Stan laughs. “It’s fine,” he says. He would obviously rather listen to her than do his homework.

Stan cracks open his laptop. As he waits for the wifi to connect, he finds himself observing Patty again. She pulls up the front-facing camera on her phone, then sets it on the table. She takes something from her bag - a small container of vaseline. She opens it, dabs a bit onto the tip of her ring finger. She applies a thin coat to her lips. Stan is transfixed. After a small amount of time, she wipes her mouth with a napkin, and the lipstick is gone. 

She smirks when she looks over and sees that Stan is watching her. He darts his eyes away. He hears her sip her tea, which reminds him that he has a rapidly cooling drink of his own. 

Stan tries to be productive, he does. But how is he expected to work under these conditions? He can’t stop looking at her. He wants to know what’s making her brow furrow. Patty doesn’t put her headphones back on, but she doesn’t talk to him, either. She intensely focuses on note taking, intermittently switching between a pen and a highlighter - both purple, of course. 

Whenever she catches him looking at her, he flicks his eyes away and types gibberish for a minute to make it seem like he’s working. Then Patty shifts in her seat, crossing her legs. Her foot grazes his leg. His brain turns to static. The cycle continues. A half hour passes, and Stan writes barely two sentences. 

“Stan,” Patty says, suddenly.

“Hmm?”

“Is that essay due tomorrow?”

“No.”

Patty nods and snaps his laptop closed. She grabs three of his fingers, squeezes them, and says, “We’re going back to your place.”

“Oh, thank God,” he says. 

Stan waits to kiss her until they reach his house; he spends the car ride over watching her hands. Illuminated by the porchlight, Patty is a vision. He struggles to unlock the door. It takes three tries. Patty snickers at him. She smells like vanilla today. Distracting, distracting. 

Once they’re inside, Patty presses him up against the closed front door. Stan grabs for her face and brings their mouths together. He kisses her hungrily. He can taste the peppermint still lingering on her tongue. Her hand finds its way into his back pocket. She gropes his ass through the fabric of his jeans. It’s almost embarrassing how fast he loses control of himself and begins to grind against her. 

“You were driving me nuts,” she pants when she breaks the kiss. 

“Oh,” Stan hears Bill say. 

Stan could’ve sworn that no one else would be home. But Bill’s schedule, like most aspects of Bill’s life, is a mystery. 

Stan extricates himself from Patty. He’s sure he’s visibly hard. His face turns bright red. 

“Hi Bill,” Stan sighs.

“Sorry,” Bill says, grimacing.

Patty shoots Bill a tight smile and a peace sign, then stalks up the stairs without waiting for Stan. 

“I’m gonna…” Stan says, pointing his thumb in her direction.

“Go ahead, man. I’ll put on headphones.”

Stan winces. “We’re not loud- Ugh. Bye.”

When he enters his room, Patty is sitting on the edge of his bed. She rips her shoes off of her feet, tossing them across the room. They land with a thud.

He locks the door. 

Stan turns back around, and Patty looks like she’s about to start ranting.

“I hate-” she starts.

In one swift movement, Stan crawls into her lap and takes her face into his hands. “Shh. Nope. He doesn’t exist,” Stan says, and kisses her.

He realizes something. 

Stan pulls back. “I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have interrupted y-”

“Kiss me, I don’t care,” she says, attacking his mouth again. Patty shrugs off her cardigan. He feels her shoulders relax, the tension melting out of her. Stan wants to stay like that, incredibly close, tongues slipping against each other, but he also wants more.

Patty has the same idea. She’s trying to unbutton his shirt while still kissing him. It isn’t working. Stan removes it himself, reluctantly lets it drop to the floor. He helps lift her shirt over her head and is then faced with a conundrum. 

The corner of Patty’s mouth quirks up. “You wanna attempt the bra?”

Stan narrows his eyes at her chest. He looks back at her amused face. “Yes,” he says, sounding more like a question.

“Okay. Go ahead,” Patty says, practically laughing at him now. 

Stan kisses her so she can’t watch him struggle. He undoes the clasp after about fifteen seconds of fumbling. 

“Proud of yourself?” Patty shrugs off the bra, tossing it over his shoulder. She smiles at him after it hits the floor. He thinks she relishes fucking up the orderliness of his room. 

“It’s not a big deal,” Stan says coolly. She smirks in response. His thumb traces the underside of her breast. He wants to kiss her chest but he can’t, not in this position, him straddling her. He resolves to do it later. 

Her fingers dig into his hair. 

Stan presses the fingertips of his other hand into the soft skin of her lower back. She shivers when he runs them up her spine. He presses a kiss to her neck, right over her pulse point.

Patty whines. Her hands go to his shoulders and she gives him a gentle nudge. Stan gets the message. He climbs off of her, standing back up. He helps her tug the last bit of her skinny jeans off of her calves, and Patty bounces back onto the bed. She slips her own underwear off, tossing them to a completely different corner of the room. Stan notes where they land. 

She keeps her knees together. Stan rests his hand on one of them as he kneels on the bed in front of her.

“Not yet. Pants off,” Patty points at him. 

Stan widens his eyes. He stands to comply, bemused. 

“You have a great ass. Indulge me,” she says, patently staring as he sheds his final layer.

“Better?” Stan asks, kneeling back down. 

She nods and spreads her legs for him. He smooths his hands down her thighs. 

“Gorgeous,” Stan says, leaning in. She’s already wet, and he feels intoxicated by her scent. He wants to dive into her. 

He settles, kisses her thigh. Stan has half a mind to tease her. He moves his head, bypassing her center, to press a lingering kiss to her other leg. 

Patty bucks toward his mouth, lets out another impatient whine. He looks up at her; she frowns down at him. She’s beautiful when she scowls. 

Stan suppresses a laugh. No teasing.

At first contact of his tongue, she arches her back and puffs out a contented breath. He moans when he starts licking her in earnest. It’s been two days since they last hooked up; he missed this. 

“Happy?” Patty chuckles.

Her laughter is cut off by a sharp inhale as Stan sucks lightly on her clit.

“Oh, that’s- yeah,” she breathes out. 

Patty’s hand tangles in his hair again; she doesn’t pull, doesn’t guide him, simply rests her fingers against his scalp. He savors the feeling as he bobs his head. He alternates between licking and sucking until Patty’s legs tense. Her fingers tighten when she comes. 

Patty is all smiles when Stan resurfaces. She stretches her arms above her head and shakes out her hands. Stan lays down next to her, propping himself up with his elbows, and kisses her lazily. 

Patty rests her hand on his chest when she kisses him. She leaves it there when she pulls back and says, “I’m going to suck your dick, okay?”

They’ve been working on this. 

Stan takes a deep breath and says, “Okay.”

Patty noses down his body. She presses a kiss just above his belly button, an attempt to distract him from her hand taking hold of his shaft. 

Stan tenses. He takes another deep breath. Patty gives him an encouraging smile when he exhales. _She likes this,_ he reminds himself. _She wouldn’t be doing this if she didn’t want to._

He makes himself watch.

Patty makes eye contact with him and grins as she licks up the side of his cock. She moves to lap at the head before wrapping her lips around it. She makes a sound while she gently sucks him, a happy one, Stan could call it a moan but he won’t. He tries to focus on the feeling, her mouth on him. He can’t. All he can feel is time passing, his heart pounding. Not in the good way.

Stan squirms and makes a discontented sound. Patty’s eyebrows jump; she releases him immediately, smacks a quick kiss to the head, and moves back up to kiss his mouth. Stan wouldn’t have asked her to stop, but he’s still glad she did. Guilt claws at his stomach.

“Sorry,” he says quietly, in between kisses. 

“It’s okay! That’s a new record, I think,” she says, rubbing his back soothingly. “You’re doing great.”

She could be mocking him for this. Stan doesn’t understand why she isn’t.

Her touch grows softer and slower. He knows she’s trying to figure out if they should stop completely. Anxiety aside, he’s far from done. 

Stan lowers his head and takes her nipple into his mouth. He feels her sharp intake of breath, her ribcage pressing into him. He swirls his tongue and grazes her other breast with his thumb. He feels himself calm down as she rocks against his leg. 

“Finger me?” Patty says. She’s hovering over his thigh now. 

Stan frees his mouth, then slides two fingers into her, marveling at how wet she is. He curls up. His fingertips brush the ridges inside her. Patty moans, undeniably. 

She trails her fingers up his length, cautious, hopeful. 

Stan bucks his hips. 

“Yeah?” she says, curiously. 

He passes Patty a condom without removing his fingers from her. She pumps her hand a few times before rolling it onto him. Patty is about to reposition herself over his cock when he has an idea. He slips his fingers out of her, then nonchalantly sucks them clean, as though he doesn’t care if she’s watching. 

She glares.

“What?” Stan says innocently. 

Patty grits her teeth. “You are so fucking hot. I’m furious.”

She jumps him. There’s no other word for it. 

Patty kisses him, tumbling down onto the bed. Stan lays on his side, facing her. They curl into each other. This close, he can almost make out the pupils of her dark eyes. He uses his hand to tilt his cock toward her, rubs the head against her entrance. Patty doesn’t break eye contact when she slides it inside of her. 

Stan groans, then kisses her, sucks her bottom lip into his mouth.

Their kissing is insistent. Almost every inch of them is touching, but Stan is aching to be closer. He feels engulfed by her warmth. He feels like a heat seeking missile. The rocking of his hips is desperate, but he’s too far gone to feel self conscious. 

Patty nips at his collarbone. Stan pants against the side of her neck. He feels her smile against his skin. She moves the hand that was clutching his shoulder to grab his ass, tugging him closer to her. The angle changes slightly. 

“Oh shit,” Patty gasps. “Right there.”

She holds onto Stan, trembling as her orgasm rips through her body. 

Stan doesn’t come simultaneously, but it’s close. He’s tipped over the edge by the way she pulses around him.

After, Patty lays there, floating, eyes closed. She hums and breathes out, “That was _so_ good.” 

Stan lets himself smile. He’s generally insecure, but he accepts that he’s getting pretty good at this.

He knows Patty is bound to be feeling cold soon - she always does, after - so Stan pulls the blanket up from the end of the bed. He wraps it around her and lays back down. 

“Thanks, Stan,” she says, snuggling into the blanket. She blinks her eyes open. 

“Hey,” he says, because he has to say something. 

“Hi. I have a request,” she says, fidgeting with the blanket. “You might not wanna do it…”

“What?”

“I was wondering if you could hold me?”

Stan feels a flash of butterflies in his stomach. 

“Why wouldn’t I want to hold you?” Stan says, shifting closer to her. He gets under the blanket, puts his arm around her. 

“I don’t know! You told me you don’t hug your friends.”

“Yeah, but you’re,” Stan pauses. “It’s different.”

Patty digs her face into his chest. 

“Also,” she says, after several minutes of silence.

“Also?”

“I want to give you some homework for next time.”

Stan laughs lightly. “Sure.”

“Great. I need you to ask for what you want. No matter what it is,” Patty starts. “I might not be into it, I think I’m pretty open, I don’t know. But I want you to tell me either way. No judgment, this is a safe space, et cetera. And I know it might not come naturally to you since you’re very submissive-”

“I’m submissive?” Stan interrupts.

Patty pauses, her hands mid-gesture, and raises an eyebrow. “Is this new information to you?”

“I mean, I’m… I know I’m not _dominant,_ exactly, but-”

She leans in and speaks softly into his ear. “If I told you to get on your knees for me...”

He squirms. 

She nods, smug. “You’re submissive. Don’t question it. It’s a good thing. It just… may impede your ability to be open. You’re always worrying about if I’m enjoying myself, and while I appreciate that, you should know I worry about that too. For you. I want you to feel good. So you need to tell me what you want.”

“All right,” he says. 

“Think about it,” she says, poking his arm.

Stan rests his chin on the top of her head. “Yes, ma’am.”

Patty swallows and shifts her weight. Stan recognizes the twitch of her hips.

“You okay?” he says, trying not to grin. 

“Yeah, yeah. Just thinking.”

* * *

Patty calls him at exactly 1:03 pm that Friday. Stan knows this because he was just checking the time on his phone when the screen lights up with her name.

“Heyyyy,” she says when he answers.

“Is everything okay?” Stan asks. She doesn’t sound like anything is wrong, but it’s very unusual for her to call. Patty texts. 

This is the first time she’s ever called him, Stan realizes upon reflection. 

“Define okay.”

“Have you been emotionally or physically harmed?”

“Nope. But I’m feeling very impulsive.”

Stan hears a honk.

He steps over to his bedroom window. Patty’s car is parked directly below it. “You’re outside of my house?”

“Yep. Me and Mike are gonna get nose piercings. Do you wanna come?”

“You- I- Um. What?”

He hears her say, “I think I broke his brain,” presumably to Mike, who he can’t see.

“Hold on,” Stan says, then hangs up.

He slips on his shoes then heads down the stairs. He grabs his jacket. Pauses. Does he want to join them? He should say hello, at the very least.

Patty waves at him when he exits his house. She gestures for Stan to sit in the front. 

Mike is in the backseat. 

“I like to pretend she’s my personal driver,” Mike explains, as Stan buckles his seat belt.

“And yet you don’t pay me for driving you everywhere,” Patty says.

“I have anxiety, Patricia.”

“Bitch, we all have anxiety, you aren’t special.”

“Well, okay, fuck you, because you know I don’t have money, I have weed, but someone doesn’t smoke.”

“I don’t either,” Stan says, turning to her.

“I know,” Patty smiles. She keeps her eyes on the road. She’s a very responsible driver.

The piercing shop is three blocks from the parking garage, in an eclectic part of downtown. Stan has passed by the place before but never gave it much thought. On the short walk over, Patty loops her arm through Mike’s. Stan trails behind them. 

While they sit in the waiting room, Patty leans her head on Mike’s shoulder. Stan sits upright in his cushioned chair, hands folded, feeling… weird. He tries to include himself in their conversation when he can, but Mike and Patty are fast, bouncing between playful insults and inside jokes. They are discussing what jewelry they’re getting - ultimately settling on matching gold studs - when Stan gets an idea.

“What if I get one?” Stan says, and _that_ gets her attention. 

Patty’s eyes light up. “Really?”

“Sure,” Stan says calmly. “Why not? I’m already here.”

Patty sits up and claps her hands together, once. “Yes, yes, okay, we’re doing this. You’re gonna look so hot, holy shit.”

Stan’s stomach flips.

He opts to go first. 

“Might as well get it over with,” Stan says. What he means is _if I don’t do this immediately, I am going to chicken out._

“Are you afraid of needles?” Patty asks.

“No,” Stan shrugs. 

“I am,” Patty smiles. “Extremely.”

Mike shakes his head. “Pats, why the fuck are we here? You know you’re about to get a needle through your face, yeah?”

“It’ll be fine! But I’m not watching either of you get yours. And,” she smiles, “You both need to hold my hand through mine.” She kisses Mike’s cheek and pinches Stan’s, then bolts from the room. 

The actual piercing is quick. Stan closes his eyes through it - he’s not afraid of needles, but not particularly enthused about them, either. The sensation is more strange than painful, and then it’s over. A septum piercing. Stainless steel, horseshoe shape so he can flip it up and hide it if he chooses. Stan’s startled when he looks at himself in the mirror, but he likes it.

Mike’s turn. The procedure is a little different, piercing his nostril instead, but similarly uneventful. 

The same cannot be said about Patty’s. She does make Mike and Stan hold her hands. They exchange smiles, exasperated and fond, while Patty squeezes her eyes tight. She takes a deep breath when it’s over. 

Stan raises his eyebrows. “How do you feel?”

Patty shrugs. “It wasn’t that bad, actually.” Her voice is casual and unconcerned, but her face is drained of color. Stan looks at Mike nervously. Mike nods.

They are given the okay to leave the room and pay. Patty stands. She drops.

“Yep, okay,” Mike says, resigned, as he catches Patty, slowing her fall. 

She regains consciousness by the time she reaches the floor. Patty blinks at them, confused, dazed. Mike and the piercer guy help move Patty to a chair, where they have her sit. He - the piercer - assures them that this sort of thing happens all the time. Patty’s given water in a little paper cup, and she sips it slowly. 

Stan feels useless. 

“I’m fine,” she says to Stan’s unasked question.

“You fainted.”

“And I’m driving,” Mike says, plucking the keys from Patty’s hand. 

“Stan can drive, Mikey, it’s okay,” Patty says, then turns to Stan. “You can drive, right?”

“Yes, I can drive,” Stan confirms. 

“I can do it. It’s an extra five minutes if I take all backroads,” Mike says.

The walk back to the car is leisurely. Mike leads, this time, occasionally turning around to examine Patty. Stan refuses to leave her side; he knows he’s hovering, but he can’t help himself. Patty is unfazed. She spends the walk smiling at both of them, excitedly pointing at her-or-Stan’s-or-Mike’s nose.

“Friendship! Bonding!” Patty says. She’s so cute.

“I know you didn’t hit your head, but are you sure you didn’t hit your head?” Mike says.

Patty tugs Stan into the backseat with her. She leans heavily against his side. He isn’t a fan of how the seat belt is wrapped across her, but he likes the contact. 

“Am I dropping you off at your house, Stan?” Mike asks as he carefully backs out of the parking space.

“If you don’t mind, thanks. I have some work to do before dinner. Bill’s cooking for us all tonight, which means the food’s going to be great but the kitchen’s going to be a disaster.”

Patty’s been petulantly frowning since he said Bill’s name. “I hate him,” she mutters.

“You know, he only had nice things to say about you,” Stan says into Patty’s hair.

She scoffs. “Of course. Asshole.”

“Has Bill, uh. Has he said anything about me?” Mike says, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel.

Right. The crush.

“Not to me. But he doesn’t tell me a lot, so, that doesn’t necessarily mean anything,” Stan says quickly. 

Mike nods, his mouth a tight line. Stan watches his expression shift in the rearview mirror. 

“They had lunch next to each other the other day,” Patty explains. “Not with each other. Next to each other.”

“He’s so fucking perfect, I want to throw myself off a bridge,” Mike says.

Patty shakes her head.

“I see,” Stan says.

“Whatever. I’m trying to be patient. It’ll take a while to get through to him, y’know? He’s a Capricorn,” Mike says.

Patty bites her lip to hide her grin. She widens her eyes at Stan, then rolls them, like _ridiculous, right?_

Stan mirrors her expression, then feels like an idiot. 

Why the fuck was he jealous of _Mike?_

The drive back to Stan’s house is a little longer, but pleasant. He finds Mike and Patty’s bickering endearing now that she’s holding Stan’s hand. 

Mike parks the car. Stan thanks him. Patty sits back up, untangling herself from Stan. He wants to kiss her goodbye. They’ve never done that before, but he wants to, so he does. It’s a peck, nothing graphic, but the smile Patty gives him feels like sex. Addicting. She rubs her thumb at the corner of Stan’s mouth; he guesses she got lipstick on him. 

Stan’s body is thrumming with energy when he unlocks the front door. He feels like he’s been zapped when he finds all three of his roommates sitting in the living room. He darts to the kitchen. 

“Hold on, what the fuck is on your face?” Eddie calls to him.

“Stan looks like a bull,” Richie says.

“Very original,” Stan says, nonchalantly setting their kettle to boil. “It’s a piercing.”

“I can see what it is. But why?” Eddie says.

“He did it to impress a girl,” Bill says knowingly. 

“I did _not_ ,” Stan hisses.

Bill turns to Eddie and says, “He did.”

“First of all, Patty is a grown woman, it’s disrespectful to call her a girl-”

“Wait wait wait. Back up. Are you still banging Patty? Holy shit,” Richie blurts.

“He is, I saw them with my own eyes,” Bill says. Richie gasps.

“You saw us _kissing,_ ” Stan groans. “Rich, you knew this, I told you I was sleeping with her.”

“Uh, you told me it happened a second time, not that it’s still going on.” 

“Yeah, hello?” Eddie says.

“It’s nothing. We hook up sometimes. Occasionally,” Stan shrugs. “Almost every day, honestly.” 

He’s allowed to be a little smug.

“My baby is all grown up! Stan the man has a girlfriend!” Richie exclaims.

“Gross. Okay. I’m not your baby,” Stan says. “And she’s not my girlfriend.”

“But you want her to be,” Eddie points at him.

“No! It’s not like that, seriously.”

“They’re _friends with benefits_ ,” Bill nods.

Richie and Eddie share a matching look of pure joy.

Stan sighs deeply. 

“Yes. Shut the fuck up. I got the piercing on a whim-”

“You’ve never made an impulsive decision in your life!” Eddie says.

Stan ignores him. “...Because I was already there with Patty and Mike-”

“History major Mike?” Bill interrupts.

Stan pauses. Interesting. 

“Yeah, her roommate.”

“So Mike has a nose piercing now too. Cool,” Bill says, in a voice Stan recognizes as not fucking casual at all. 

“Yeah. A stud. He looks good,” Stan says. He watches as Bill stares off into the distance.

“I’m going to get a nipple pierced. Only one,” Richie says, tapping his chin theatrically. 

“No, you’re not,” Eddie rolls his eyes. He rests his hand on the back of Richie’s neck.

“Why not?”

“Because I say so.”

“My boyfriend’s such a buzzkill,” Richie pouts.

“Your boyfriend likes your body the way it is.”

“Oh, yeah?”

Stan looks away when they start kissing. He takes his tea and heads to his room. 

* * *

Stan shows up unannounced to Patty’s house the next day. This shouldn’t be a big deal, considering Patty did the same thing the day before.

He’s greeted at the front door by Patty’s last roommate. 

“You’re Stan, right?” she says. She gives him a very obvious once-over.

“Yeah. Hi,” Stan says, nervously. He’s not as intimidated by her as he was by Ben. She’s tiny, with a wild shag of gingery hair. Her makeup is dark - like everyone who lives here - but messy, like maybe her eyeliner is yesterday’s that she never bothered removing.

“Bev,” she says, holding out her hand. 

Bev’s handshake is firm, like she wants Stan to know she could snap him in half. 

Great. Intimidated again.

Bev lets him inside without further fanfare. He trudges upstairs. Just outside of Patty’s bedroom door, he can hear quiet sounds, maybe a movie playing. He knocks. The sounds stop.

“What?” Patty calls out harshly. 

“Hey,” Stan says, opening the door, timid.

Patty’s laying in bed, blankets bunched around her, laptop close to her face. She isn’t wearing makeup. Stan knew that Patty had glasses, but he’s never seen her wear them before. 

“Buh. Hi Stan. I should’ve texted you,” she says. Her voice is strained. She coughs once.

“No, sorry, I should’ve texted you before I came over. How are you feeling?”

“Kind of dying. It’s fine,” she says.

Stan must make a face, because she elaborates. 

“Just my period.”

He knows that the way he reacts to this information is critically important.

“Oh, okay,” he says. “Do you need me to get you anything?”

She gives him a half smile. 

“Actually- what time is it?” Patty checks her phone quickly. “Yeah, can you pass me that Advil?” 

He grabs the medication, as well as the reusable water bottle that is just out of her reach, and hands them to Patty. She swallows two of the pills roughly, then winces.

“Cramps?” Stan says, stepping closer to her bed. 

“Mmhmm. Really bad the first two days.”

He stuffs his hands into his pockets. He doesn’t know what else to do with himself. He isn’t sure if she wants him to sit with her, or leave. 

Patty purses her lips. “Uh. Sorry if you came here to hook up.”

Stan shakes his head. “No, no problem. I wanted to check in on you. I’ll live.”

He takes a moment. Considers. Goes for it. “And, Patty, by the way-”

“I’m gonna stop you right there. I know you’re about to say that it’s not a big deal that I’m bleeding. I can feel it in my bones. _I’ll do whatever you’re comfortable with_ ,” Patty says, in what Stan assumes is meant to be an imitation of his voice. “You’d fucking go down on me right now if I asked.”

Patty may literally be able to read his mind, Stan thinks. 

“I would,” he concedes. 

Patty taps her index finger to her temple twice. “Your enthusiasm is noted. But we’re not going to do anything. I wish I was _sexy_ and could be all like _ohhh I’m sooo horny on my period_. But my sex drive is like, zero. Lower than that. Negative ten. You don’t appeal to me at all right now.”

Stan raises his eyebrows.

“Fine, you have limited appeal. You’re very cute. How’s your nose?” she asks.

“A little sore. Yours?”

“Same. Sore.”

Stan nods. Looks down at his feet. 

“So, uh,” he starts. He has no plan on what to say after that.

“See you in five to six days, I guess?” Patty says.

That’s. Hmm. 

Stan doesn’t want that. It’s not the idea of going a week without sex that bothers him. Sure, he’ll probably have to jack off more than he’s used to, but again, he’ll live. He thinks, well, he _knows_ that he’ll miss seeing Patty. Talking to her. He could always text her, he guesses, but it’s not the same.

He wants to ask… He shouldn’t.

“Actually. Mind if I hang out for a bit?” Stan asks.

“Be my guest,” Patty says. She lifts an upper corner of her comforter. “I will not make more room for you, but if you snuggle close I bet you can fit.”

She does move to accommodate him, but he still finds himself pressed close to her, shoulder to shoulder, thigh to thigh.

“What are you watching?” Stan asks. 

“A movie I’ve seen 800 times.”

She tilts her laptop screen away from him. Stan quirks an eyebrow. “Am I not allowed to know?” 

Patty narrows her eyes, then tilts the laptop back to him. 

“I’m marathoning the Twilight Saga. Almost done with _New Moon_. You can laugh.”

Stan smiles and shakes his head. “Nah, total comfort movies, I get it. I read the books in middle school.”

“You were Team Jacob,” Patty says, certain.

“Yeah, Edward’s a creep. The werewolf lore was more interesting anyway.”

Patty grins at him.

“I didn’t care about the main love triangle at all,” she says.

“Yes, I can tell that from the everything about you.”

“Thank you. I wanted to run away with Leah,” Patty says.

“Shit, I do not remember the minor characters. Which one is that?”

“The one female werewolf.”

“Got it, yes, I can see that for you.”

Patty hits the spacebar on her computer, the movie continues, and Stan inches even closer to her. 

_A bit_ becomes six hours. 

Stan’s phone buzzes at exactly midnight. His arm is around Patty’s shoulders. He clears the alarm, then leans in and whispers in Patty’s ear. 

“It’s midnight. Happy birthday.”

“Damnit,” Patty says. “I hoped you wouldn’t know.”

Patty’s phone is hit with a wave of notifications so strong it nearly buzzes off the table. She shakes her head and silences it.

“Any plans for your twenty-first?”

“Ehh. This. Possibly different shitty movies. Drunk on alcohol I’ve legally purchased.” She rubs her forehead. 

“Solid plan. I’ll bring you candy.” 

She gives Stan a look.

“What?” he says. “You’re a Halloween baby, you have to have candy on your birthday, it’s the law.”

“Does that mean you’re coming over again?”

He hopes so.

“If you’ll have me,” he says.

Patty, always smiling, nods. “Yeah, I’ll allow that.”

The final credits scroll up the screen, unnoticed.

“I should let you go to bed,” Stan says, when the screen goes black. Her room would be pitch dark if not for the rainbow string lights. It reminds Stan of their first time. 

“I am in bed,” she says.

“You know what I mean.”

It’s late. He should leave. He straightens his posture. They wait a beat, neither moving, watching each other.

Patty slides her glasses off. She folds the arms and places them in the open case on her bedside table. She turns to face Stan. He doesn’t move a muscle.

She cups his face gently, leans in, and slowly kisses him. 

When she pulls away, she lingers in their shared air. Stan keeps his eyes closed. 

“Thanks, Stanley,” she whispers.

“For what?” he replies, stealing another quick kiss.

“Being you,” she says. “The best.”

Stan melts. The butterflies are back. He opens his eyes and wraps his arms around her. Patty’s head drops to Stan’s shoulder, and she hugs him tighter. He carefully nuzzles his nose into her hair, ignoring the small twinges of pain. He wonders if she can feel him glowing. Does he have to leave? Would she let him spend the night, let him hold her until the morning, when he can kiss her awake and hold her hand while they make breakfast and waste a whole new day together?

He freezes, then blinks twice.

Stan is pretty sure this qualifies as catching feelings. 

Fuck.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey friends! there's a lot of sex in this one. sorry/you're welcome.
> 
> content warnings: explicit sexual content, alcohol use, gun/suicide joke, disordered eating (kind of; patty forgets to eat when she's stressed)

So Stan has a crush. 

It’s fine. No big deal. He's not going to let it interfere with his life. He has plans for both his immediate and long term futures and they do not include getting distracted by _emotions._ He busies himself with the minutiae of college life: attending every class, completing every assignment early, studying beyond what is necessary. 

He sees Patty every day for two weeks. He doesn't invite himself over. Usually they fuck, but sometimes they don't. She kisses him goodbye no matter what. Stan doesn't ask for more.

This doesn't have to change anything. It doesn't. It does _not._

But he's sleepless for her. In the thick of the semester, when his brain critically needs to recharge, Stan finds himself lying awake at night thinking about her. His dreams, when he does sleep, are colorful blurs. She's always there, brown-black-purple and indistinct. They aren't sex dreams, which would be fine, logical. His mind revolves around her smile, her voice, her eyes. Sometimes he dreams about reaching for her hand. Pathetic. 

Stan feels detached from his own emotions. In moments alone, he analyzes the thrill that goes up his spine when she laughs, the desperate turn of his stomach when her eyes aren't on him. It's embarrassing how needy he is. He hates it. He longs to focus. But even more, he longs for her. He thinks he might be losing his mind. 

Perhaps most concerning of all: Patty can read him like no one else. How the fuck is he supposed to hide this? 

The night that Stan learns the truth begins in Patty's house. 

He's sitting in the living room with her roommates, Ben to his right, when Patty emerges from her shower. Her hair is tied up in a towel - plopping - with another wrapped around her body.

“Sorry I took forever. Had to shave,” she says to the room. "Fucked that I'll have to shave all winter because someone's actually gonna see my legs."

Stan's cheeks warm. That someone would be him. He gets flustered every time Patty references their sex life around her friends. He's not embarrassed, not exactly. 

"That sucks. I'm lucky Ben doesn't give a fuck," Bev says. 

Ben shoots her a soft smile. 

Stan wants to object. _Hold on,_ he wants to say. _I never said-_

But he can't do that, not with her roommates around. That would be embarrassing.

Patty walks over to him and leans against the arm of the couch. She pinches the fabric of his sweater, then releases it quickly. "This is cute."

Stan smiles up at her. "Thanks," he says quietly. 

Patty tickles the nape of his neck. She looks up at the rest of the room, then frowns. “What’s the dress code here?”

The present outfit choices vary considerably. Stan, per usual, is practical; the sweater over dark jeans. Bev has no pants on. She's wearing only a sweatshirt - oversized, Ben's - and one orange fuzzy sock bunched up around her ankle. Her arms are full of clothes on hangers. Mike, currently standing shirtless in the center of the room, has changed no less than six times. Stan has been watching this debacle for the past half hour. 

Stan's eyes scan Mike's body. He feels an undercurrent of attraction, but it doesn't grab him the way he thinks it should. Mike's objectively hot, arguably Stan's type, he should _feel something_. But he doesn't. 

"Dress warm. I keep saying it doesn't matter what shirt he wears, he's gonna have a coat over it, we'll be outside," Ben says to Patty.

She pats Ben on the head. "Easy to say when you aren't trying to impress anyone."

“I want to fucking _die_ ,” Mike groans, unbuttoning yet another one of Bev's offerings. 

Patty starts to head up to her bedroom to get dressed. Stan is content to wait for her here - he's grown far more comfortable around her roommates, particularly Ben, who is folding the shirts that Bev has thrown over her shoulder haphazardly. But Patty takes a few steps out of the living room, turns her head, and gives him a look that says _are you coming?_ So he follows. 

Her bedroom is messy. Surprise. 

While Patty decides what she wants to wear, Stan takes the opportunity to look closely at the shelf with her collection of body sprays. Said collection was the subject of many late night musings. She smells different every day. He wonders if there's a pattern, if she picks a scent based on her mood or her outfit or, or. He doesn't know. One of the many things he wants to figure out about her. Patty Blum is fascinating.

His brain keeps catching on what she said earlier. 

Stan waits to speak until her back is turned. “You know you uh. Don’t have to shave for me. If you don't want to.”

Patty laughs lightly and continues to rummage through her closet. “Thank you, Mr. Feminist, I know. But it's seriously not a big deal as long as I keep up with it."

Stan watches a drop of water travel down her back, disappearing into the crease of her spine. He wants to catch it with his tongue. He wants to pounce on her. He wants, he wants… 

“No, I uh.” He clears his throat.

Patty turns around. Deep breath. 

“I,” Stan continues. “I would _prefer_ if you did not.”

Patty tilts her head. She takes a step closer to him. He could take her into his arms, now, if he reached for her. 

"You're asking for something you want," she says. Not a question. She gets him.

"I am."

She gets closer. Smiles. "Yeah, I can do that for you. I knew you had a thing for my legs. But body hair too, huh?"

Stan is reeling.

"Oh, I should've let you moisturize my legs for me, I just got some new lotion," Patty continues.

"Jesus," Stan mutters.

She winks. "Another time."

Stan reaches out, traces the edge of the towel where it lays damp against her leg. Patty watches the movement of his hand. He _wants._

“How are you feeling?” he asks, voice low and casual, head ducked. 

“Good," Patty says, mimicking his tone. "Great. Why?”

Stan drops to his knees.

“No reason,” he says. He doesn't meet her eyes. He looks straight ahead, at her legs, and licks his lips.

Patty's breath hitches. She clears her throat. "What do you want?"

Isn't it obvious? Isn't _he_ obvious? If Stan channels all of his feelings into sex, maybe he won't be obvious. He's just passionate about the female form, that's all. 

“Whatever you want.”

She places her fingers under his chin, rests her thumb on his lower lip. He takes it into his mouth. She tilts his head up. He meets her eyes, and sucks. 

“Fuck,” she says, and lets the towel fall.

He doesn't move until she tells him to. Patty leans back to rest against the wall. She plucks her finger from his mouth. He tilts his head and pauses as though he is considering what he wants to do. He knows what he wants. 

Patty's obviously watching him closely. The fluorescent lighting overhead casts harsh shadows on her face. Stan knows she quickly gets frustrated by teasing. He knows that. But he decides to press his luck.

He runs his hands over her thighs, slow circles. He brushes a patch she missed shaving; he lowers his head and drags his tongue across it, eyes locked with hers. It must be an impressive visual because her hips suddenly rock forward, nearly knocking into his face. 

He smirks up at her. 

Stan hovers. Breathes her in. He dips his head a little closer, just close enough that he can feel her hair tickle his skin. 

And there it is: Patty's impatient grumble. It's a warning. _Do something, now, or I'm done._ She's not afraid to make them both suffer to prove a point.

Stan surges forward. Patty lets out a contented sigh when his tongue makes contact with her clit. 

Her taste, as always, is intoxicating. He laps at her eagerly. The sound is obscene; wet, rhythmic, beyond self-conscious. 

Patty drifts her hand down, tightens her fingers in his hair. They rest there, like she's holding him in place, and it's so, so good. He can't get enough of the sounds she's making. They're subtle, small harsh breaths, mouthed words that make themselves known in light squeaks. But she's holding herself back. Keeping quiet.

He wants to _hear_ her. He wants to get even closer. He wants to worship her. They don't have time for that, but Stan has an idea. He sits back, taps the underside of her thigh, then just above his collarbone. 

She gets the message. Patty puts her leg over his shoulder, leaning more of her weight against the wall. 

"Thanks," he says, barely audible, mouth pressed against her.

"God, you're so-" she whispers. 

Stan doesn't learn what he is. He licks her again, tongue flat and wide. He doesn't bother opening his eyes; he can't see her face from this angle, not with his face engulfed by her body. 

Stan isn't aware of his own breathing. He knows he must be. Breathing. He doesn't feel in need of oxygen. His only feelings are _warm_ and _wet_ and _her_. 

Her fingers are tight on his curls but she's still too quiet. Frustrating. Probably self-conscious about the other people in the house. He doesn't know if he can get her out of her head. 

Stan fucks his tongue into her entrance, quick enough to make her gasp. He can't hold back his moan when the deeper taste of her rolls into his mouth. She shushes him with a breathy laugh. Stan grins. He hopes she can feel it. 

He could do this forever, but Patty's legs begin to buckle. She's close. Stan props her up, supports her weight. She should learn he's strong enough for her. He keeps mouthing at the spot she likes, listening for her subtle shifts in breathing, when she lets out the loudest sound all night. 

_"Stanley,"_ she moans. 

And that's a first, Patty saying his name when she comes. His heart thumps. 

When she's done, she slides down the wall, landing half on top of him. She rests her forehead against his. Stan leans in and kisses her.

 _“ _F_ uck. _I’m gonna ride you,” she gasps into his mouth.

There's a sudden loud thud against the door.

Stan startles. Patty snaps her eyes shut.

"You have twenty-three minutes," Mike yells. "One second longer and we're leaving your asses here."

Patty groans as she helps them both to their feet. Stan's fully dressed - he's wearing argyle socks, for fuck's sake - which feels absurd after what he just did. His face is drenched. It's unclear how much of that is from Patty and how much is his own saliva. 

Patty picks up her discarded towel and starts to wipe his face. “Some of your hair is a little wet,” she says, flicking a curl. "How'd you do that?"

Stan shrugs. He says, "Enthusiasm," but it tastes like Devotion.

She huffs, then twists her hand in his sweater and _tugs._ Stan feels the towel cascade onto the floor as she kisses him deeply. Patty's frustration is evident in her insistent mouth and her stubborn refusal to let him go. She seems to get closer every time they hear evidence of life outside of this bedroom, 

"You're supposed to get dressed," Stan says against her mouth. "I know you're trying to start shit again, you're not sneaky."

Patty whines petulantly. She pulls back but keeps a grip on him. "Why am I doing this again?"

"To make friends."

"I have friends. You're my friend."

"New friends," Stan says, punctuating his sentence by cupping her cheek. 

_Too fond. Stop that._

He drops his hand, untangles Patty's, and takes a step back. Boundaries.

"And," he continues. "We're meddling, remember?"

Patty frowns, exaggerated, and grumbles as she turns back to her closet. 

He watches her dress. Jeans, a sweatshirt. She's not trying to impress anyone. Patty turns back around, releasing her hair from its towel, and points at her scent shelf. "Throw me one of those," she says.

"Which one?"

"Doesn't matter."

Chaos. She's chaos.

Stan reaches for the bottle closest to him, light green, honeydew. 

Patty scrunches her face. "Ehh, not that one."

Okay. He holds his index finger over another bottle and receives narrowed eyes. They play this game, Stan offering and Patty rejecting, until he lands on the vanilla.

"Sure. You like that one," she says, certain.

"I do?"

"Yeah, I've been testing your reactions. You like the vanilla one."

Stan's heart thumps again. He's so gone for her.

Patty, scent applied, leads him to the bathroom. He swigs mouthwash while she diffuses her hair. They exchange grins in the mirror.

* * *

The bonfire was Stan's idea, technically. 

Bill likes to host gatherings, but tries not to impose on his roommates' space. When Bill recently floated the idea of a Wednesday night bonfire in their backyard, Stan was encouraging. When Stan told Patty about his plan, she begrudgingly went along with it. She wanted to avoid spending more time around Bill than necessary, but understood it _was_ necessary in this circumstance.

Stan was thrilled to find out that Patty too has a passion for elaborate bullshit machinations. She's perfect.

_Fuck._

Tonight, you see, he has a plan. Stan told Richie that the gathering is a ploy for him to spend more time with Patty, that he is developing feelings for her and wants her to get to know his friends. This is a cover story for the real purpose - the best lies are backhanded truths - which is giving Mike the opportunity to talk to Bill in a comfortable setting.

Mike likes Bill. Bill (probably) likes Mike. 

Stan has had to listen to both of them whining about the other for the past few weeks. Well, Mike whined, Bill brought him up out of nowhere and then stared off into the distance. Close enough. Patty is Mike's best friend, she knows him better than he knows himself, and she is certain that nothing will happen unless someone intervenes. So Stan decided to take matters into his own hands. He pretends to be annoyed about it, but he likes to see his friends happy. 

The night is an empty stage. The stars are present but dull, outshined by the fire that Bill is standing dangerously close to. Richie waves excitedly as Stan, Patty, and her roommates approach, his grin wide and inviting. 

Patty's face lights up at the sight of Richie. She runs and tackles him. 

Stan, unbelievably, feels a bitter twinge of jealousy. Of Patty being friendly with his very taken and very gay roommate. He's _pathetic._

The introductions go well. Hugs all around, even between Patty and Bill, because everyone here is a hugger except Stan, apparently. Whatever. Ben helps Richie set out chairs. Bev and Eddie poke at the fire. Bill brings out drinks and snacks. 

"The marshmallows are vegan," Bill announces to everyone, but his eyes are on Mike. 

"And kosher," Stan whispers, knocking his shoulder against Patty's. 

"Ah. You're letting Bill take credit for something you did," Patty whispers back.

"Nope. I told him Mike was vegetarian, but I let him come to his own conclusion about what to do with that information."

Patty hums like she suspects he's lying. He isn't. Stan wonders what's worse: the idea of Bill being thoughtful, or Patty being wrong? 

Stan hangs back while everyone else chooses their seats. He wants to sit next to her. He wants to keep her hands warm. Instead, Stan ends up almost directly across from her, between Ben and Mike. This means that Mike and Bill are next to each other, which is more important. 

Patty reflects the fire like the moon reflects the sun. She's all orange glow and laughter, beautiful in the way she complements the circle. Stan doesn't try to keep up with what she's saying. Richie-Patty-Bev is a dangerous combination, all quick and loud and funnier than they have any right to be. 

Stan stays quiet. He is enjoying himself, but he will always default to being a wallflower in social situations. He's glad Patty isn't the same, that she's comfortable here. He can't take his eyes off of her. 

Patty looks at him, sometimes. Maybe checking on him. Maybe a coincidence. But an hour or so into the gathering, Patty looks right at Stan, raises an eyebrow, and nods in the direction of Bill and Mike. Stan gives her a slight nod back. He tilts his head so he can see them out of his peripheral. 

Neither are paying attention to the rest of the group. Bill's flushed cheeks could be from the cold, but probably not. He is holding Mike's right hand, either reading his palm or comparing hand sizes. Mike's other hand is on Bill's knee. They're leaning into each other, voices hushed.

Stan's not intentionally trying to eavesdrop, but he is sitting right there, he _should_ be able to overhear Bill and Mike's conversation. But he cannot.

He shrugs it off. He gives Patty a small smile. She smiles back. He loses her attention for a while, but that small interaction is enough to make him lightheaded for a good ten minutes. 

"Patty," Bill says out of the blue, voice loud, pivoting his body toward the circle. "It's so great to spend time with you in a less formal setting."

Patty's brow furrows. "Uh. Yeah."

Bill smiles. Mike's knees are turned toward Bill, but he seems to be looking across the fire. Watching Patty. 

"It's so nice to have everyone here, really. Thank you for helping me arrange this, Stan," Bill continues. "I'm so excited for these new friendships."

Stan finds Bill's tone and sincerity suspicious. 

"Yeah, I fucking love you guys," Richie says. Bev beams at him. 

"So Patty. I heard you and Stan met on Tinder, is that right?" Bill asks.

Stan glares at him. _What are you doing?_

Patty cocks her head. "Yeah, um, we matched in, what, October? Started talking, hit it off. Why?" 

Half of the faces around the fire shift. Ben's is most subtle, pressing his lips together with a small quirk of his eyebrows. Bev rolls her eyes. Bill's smile changes. Stan recognizes that expression as a cross between smug and amused, but he doesn't understand _why._

Mike, for his part, snorts. "Right. You definitely didn't already have a crush on him before you messaged him."

Patty shushes him. 

Stan's brain stutters. 

“...You had a crush on me?” Stan asks, frowning.

Patty scoffs. _"Crush_ is a very strong word-" she starts.

"Yeah, it's not like she was going on about Hot Stan From Hillel for months or anything," Bev smirks.

 _"Bev!"_ Patty snaps. She straightens her posture and resolutely does not look at Stan.

He's seen that face before. She's embarrassed.

Stan's lost. What the fuck is happening? He sees Patty is upset, he doesn't want to add to it but he doesn't understand. Richie is mouthing _Hot Stan From Hillel_ and Stan can't help but ask for clarification. 

"Months?" Stan says. 

"Since last spring," Mike replies, smirking into his mug. 

Stan looks at Patty helplessly. "What? When did we…"

"Just. It's nothing. Ignore it."

Stan cannot ignore this. What the fuck is she talking about?

Bill told Stan that he respects Patty. That doesn't negate the fact that he likes to antagonize her. Bill looks like he's about to say something else when Patty cuts him off. 

"Hold on, no, this isn’t embarrassing, fuck off. I thought you were cute and nice to talk to," Patty says, talking about Stan but to the group broadly, still refusing to look at him. "Huge fucking surprise. I would say that to you now. It's not like I- like I fell in love at first sight, or some shit, okay? Just. It's nothing."

She won't look back at him. Stan's gut clenches. 

He knew he recognized her from somewhere. Last spring… He doesn't remember. How can he not remember her?

Wait. _Wait._

"...Purim. Holy shit. That was you?" Stan says.

"Yeah," Patty sighs, still not making eye contact. "You don't have to pretend to remember, it's fine."

“Hold on, no, I remember. Yes. Wait. Your hair was purple!"

Patty touches her hair self-consciously. "Yeah, it was."

* * *

In his memory, she's a goddess. Violet. Stunning. It was early March, not technically spring, but the weather was mild and vernal. Stan was drunk. 

Fine, Stan was _incredibly_ drunk, because he didn't drink in high school and still hadn't learned his own limits, but it was a holiday and it's a mitzvah too, okay, leave him alone.

Stan was drunk, and he was drunk enough to be a particular kind of paranoid, his mood so fragile that one iota of conflict would be enough to make him crash. Recognizing this, he wandered away from Richie until he found himself alone. 

She - Patty, he knows now - she grabbed Stan's attention immediately. Not because she looked pretty, though she did. You could call it a spark, maybe. Some invisible pull. He saw this woman and knew he needed to talk to her. 

He didn't call out to her. He didn't say anything at all. He looked up, saw her standing a few yards away, and startled when she turned around. She looked at him and then moved to sit next to him a moment later. He doesn't know why. Maybe she felt that same inexplicable feeling. 

Patty felt safe to him. She was never as intimidating as she likes to think she is. She was drunk too, but not as drunk as Stan. He could tell. They sat on that curb together, the cold seeping in through their dark clothing, saying nothing for a long time. Stan knocked his foot against hers. They were both wearing heeled boots.

He thinks he might have spoken first. 

_I might cry_ , he said to her. _I'll try not to cry on you._

 _This material is very absorbent,_ she replied. _No biggie if you do._

He can't remember her face. Absurd.

He remembers a supportive shoulder, a soft hand in his, a conversation that went on for hours or lifetimes. They people-watched, they laughed, they flirted. But he didn't cry. 

The edges of the memory are tinged pink with lust. 

He doesn't remember leaving her. Or her leaving him. He doesn't know how the encounter ended. He knows he wanted her then. He knows he leaned in to listen to her, close enough that their thighs were touching. He diligently listened to whatever she was saying and thought _maybe her._ Maybe. Maybe that buoyant feeling could continue if he took her home, if he let her touch him, if he got his mouth on her. 

Did he kiss her? He can't fucking remember. 

* * *

Holy shit, he can't remember. 

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Stan says. 

Patty finally looks at him. “I tried to! I hinted!"

"When?"

"Literally our first conversation."

Fuck. "That went over my head."

"Clearly!" Her voice sounds panicked.

Stan doesn't like that she's upset. Stan wants, no, _needs_ to talk to her. But not here. Not in front of all of their friends.

Richie causes a distraction, sharing a reckless story that gets Bev excited and Eddie ranting. He's a good friend that way. Stan waits for everyone to move on, then looks at Patty until he gets her attention. He tilts his head in the direction of the trees. _Follow me._

She does.

"Logicking your way out of embarrassment doesn't work, in my experience," he says once they're alone.

Patty shoots him a tight smile and crosses her arms. "Can we ignore this?"

"No."

Patty glares. Stan raises an eyebrow.

"Ugh," she says. "What do you want me to say?"

"I don't understand why you hid this? You were already into me. Th-that's flattering, not embarrassing."

She sighs.

"I guess… I don't know. I figured it meant more to me than it did to you. That I made that night into this huge deal in my mind and you either forgot about it or. It left no impact on you. And I was right. So. I'm embarrassed."

He doesn't know what to say.

Stan leans his back against a tree. He can feel the rough scratch of the bark through his clothing. 

"Sometimes I think about what I said in our Tinder conversation and get a full body cringe," he says. 

It breaks the tension.

"No, yeah, you were such a fucking dork," Patty rolls her eyes. "You're lucky you were pre-screened. You're much more enticing in person."

"Everything makes a lot more sense now, honestly. I could not understand why you wanted to hook up with me after that. I mean, I went with it, but. It all seemed too easy."

Her laugh inches her closer. "The messages were a formality. You just had to avoid fucking up too bad."

In a fleeting moment of boldness, Stan reaches out to place his hand on her hip. "Can I ask you something?"

Patty nods, relaxing into his touch.

"Did we kiss? On Purim," he says.

She tilts her head, obviously confused.

"It's just that when I first kissed you it felt… so familiar," Stan continues. "Like we'd done it before? And I'm thinking back on that night and I don't remember it, but. I don't know."

"No," she sniffs. "We didn't. You, uh. You wanted to."

"God, did I tell you I wanted to kiss you instead of actually kissing you? That sounds like something I would do."

She huffs out a laugh. "No. But you were very obvious. I know your _kiss me_ cues pretty well."

Stan smiles, maybe blushes. "I want you to kiss me now," he says.

"I know. You've been giving me eyes all night."

Stan's smile is interrupted by Patty kissing him firmly. Her mouth is sugar sweet. 

"Did you want to kiss me that night?" he asks when they separate. He knows the answer but he wants to hear her say it.

"I wanted to _fuck_ you," she says. "But you were _really_ drunk, so I uh, well, I said I would take a raincheck."

Stan shakes his head. "And then I made you wait for months. Shit."

"It's okay," she shrugs. "I know how you can make it up to me."

Stan rolls his eyes. She's such a flirt. He presses his nose into the hollow of her throat. He breathes in smoke, vanilla, that scent that's just _her._ "You smell like a campfire," he says. 

"I wonder why," she snickers. Her hand travels down his arm, coming to rest at his elbow. 

A thrill shoots through him. He wants to bite her. He doesn't. He kisses her neck softly, and relishes the warm puff of air that escapes her mouth. Patty leans more of her weight onto him. 

"Would you fuck me in the woods if I asked you to?" she says, fiddling with the zipper of his coat. 

Stan swallows. He pulls back, searches her eyes for the answer she wants, and finds nothing. He opts to be honest. 

"Ten feet away from our friends? No. And think of the poison ivy."

Her smile burns. "You're so cute."

"I'm not cute, I'm practical."

"You're both," she says, pulling him closer to her, her arms looped through his open coat. She captures his mouth again. 

Her kisses are unhurried. She leisurely explores him, the gentle pressure of her lips a stark contrast to the clutch of her hands. Stan can feel his heartbeat in his tongue. 

"You're such a good kisser. _God._ "

Stan doesn't mean to say that out loud. 

The sound Patty makes in response is choked, almost a whimper. Her hands find his face, cradling it. Her gaze on him is steady. Stan wonders what she sees. 

Patty leans down to kiss him again when Bev's voice breaks through the trees. 

"Pats, quit making out with your boyfriend! Time to go home!"

Twin sighs.

"Not my boyfriend!" Patty calls back. 

She rolls her eyes, then crinkles them at Stan. He lets her be the one to separate their bodies. 

She squeezes his fist twice. He wants to keep her hand, to hold it while they rejoin their friends. But he's not her boyfriend, so Stan holds his arms awkwardly at his sides, instead. His face is cool and his stomach is an empty pit. They trudge back to the house together, footsteps crunching dead leaves and fallen branches.

Stan manages to catch the tail end of Mike and Bill's goodbye. 

"I'll write you," Bill says, and Stan isn't sure if that's a pretentious way of saying _text_ or if he is planning to write Mike letters.

Either way.

Bill and Mike shake hands, or something close to it. Bill's hand is in Mike's larger fist. They hold like that, paused for a few seconds, then nod and let go. Mike heads to the car where Ben and Bev are already waiting. Patty follows.

Stan wants to go to bed. He hopes he can sleep, hopes his brain won't keep him up late again. He feels himself aching for Patty and she hasn't even fucking left yet.

Patty rolls down the driver's side window of her car. "What, I don't get a goodbye kiss?" she calls out. 

Everyone hears. Everyone watches Stan jog over to the car and duck his head into Patty's open window. His face is red. Patty rubs her thumb over his cheek and pecks him on the mouth. He wants more than that, he wants to kiss her deeper, but _everyone is watching._

It's only a few steps back to the front door of his house, but Stan finally understands what people mean by _walk of shame._ Bill waits for him at the door, holds it open for Stan to pass through. He waits to talk until Patty has driven away.

"You have feelings for Patty, huh?" Bill says. 

If Bill can see it, Stan's fucked.

His face falls. "Yeah. I do," he says quietly. He presses his lips together and frowns at Bill.

Bill nods and frowns back. "That's rough. Hm."

"You can say I told you so."

"What?"

"I didn't listen to you at all. Your advice. You told me how to avoid this, and I just. Didn't."

Bill shrugs. "It happens. Are you going to tell her how you feel?"

 _Tell her?_ Is he serious? That would require vulnerability. To offer up the softest part of him, give her the opportunity to eviscerate him. This feeling is too new. Too fragile. He's too fragile. 

"No," Stan says quickly. "Absolutely not."

"Okay. Suit yourself."

"How are you feeling about Mike?" Stan asks, desperate for a change of subject. "You looked cozy."

Bill bites his lip and smiles, turning his attention to his feet. "He's intriguing."

"Intriguing."

Bill nods dreamily. "A gorgeous mind. I thought about asking him on a date, but I think I like him too much for that."

"You're a lunatic," Eddie says. 

Stan didn't notice him approaching. He tries not to worry about what he may have overheard.

Bill shrugs. 

"If he asked you out, would you say yes?" Stan asks, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

Bill bites his lip again. "If it feels right."

Stan and Eddie groan. 

Bill moves to put his hand on Stan's shoulder. Stan flinches away from him. Bill withdraws his hand. "You're welcome for meddling tonight," he says, winks, and heads upstairs.

Goddamnit.

* * *

It's a freezing cold day in early December when Stan finds Patty in his living room. 

He knew that Richie was leading a meeting this afternoon - it's something for comedy club - but he did not anticipate Patty being present. Stan, bundled up in his room, hears her voice coming from downstairs, and he is overwhelmed by his desire to see her. 

Historically he avoids leaving the safety of his bedroom when Rich has people over. He figures tea is an okay excuse if his behavior is questioned. 

Richie waves at him when he passes through the living room. "Staniel!" 

"Hey," Patty says, her voice soft with surprise. It's fucked up how much that one word gets to him; Stan nearly shivers. She's wearing a long-sleeved dress and black lipstick. It's been a while since he's seen her with lipstick on.

He smiles at both of them, then heads into the kitchen. He can still see them over the half wall. He tries to be subtle about his staring. There are two other people present, some assholes from comedy club who Stan knows he's seen before. He didn't care enough to learn their names. To be fair, Stan doesn't know that they're assholes, but he suspects as much from the way they're dominating the conversation. 

The water is almost boiling when Patty speaks up. 

"Are we almost done?" she says. 

"Aww, Patty, anxious to leave because your little boyfriend's here?" the one guy says. 

Stan hates him.

"He's not my fucking boyfriend," Patty says, scowling. "I know you _love_ to listen to yourself talk, but if we're in agreement on Rich's plan then you should stop wasting everyone's time."

Stan's stomach drops. He tries to swallow down the feeling. Goes back to his task. Methodically prepares the mug and the teabag and tries not to look at her. He hears Richie say the word _fundrager_ and barely suppresses an eyeroll. Stan's eyes instead dart toward Patty. She's already looking at him. She raises her eyebrows, then motions shooting herself in the head. Not a party person, his Patty. 

Fuck. She's not _his._

Stan ducks out of the kitchen with his tea, and tries to return to his bedroom as quietly as possible. Patty doesn't seem to notice his departure. He's not sure if that's good or bad. 

Twenty minutes later, there's a knock at his bedroom door. They enter without waiting for his permission. Stan's irritation immediately evaporates when he sees that it's Patty. She doesn't turn the light on. The room is illuminated only by his desk lamp but he can see that her lipstick is gone. 

"Hey," she says.

"Hey," he says, sitting up straighter on his bed. 

She locks his door. She crawls onto the bed and climbs into his lap, knees resting on either side of him. "So fucking happy you're home. I've been thinking about you all afternoon."

Stan lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding. "I missed you."

Patty leans down and hugs him, resting her head against his collarbone. Stan loves when she straddles him like this. He brushes his hand over the soft fabric of her leggings, then keeps moving, roaming to the space under her dress where her waistband meets her skin. Her bare skin is hot under his palms. 

Patty likes physical affection, and Stan isn't sure if she's just looking to cuddle right now. He won't try to accelerate anything if this is all she wants. He makes sure that the movement of his hands is gentle, unassuming. 

She starts to kiss along his jaw. Stan sighs happily when she reaches his mouth. She tastes like chai - she must have helped herself to the rest of the hot water - and her lips are so soft. He'd stay like this for hours, making out while they hold each other. He'd let her lay next to him, pull the blanket up around them both so she doesn't get cold. He'd wait for her to stop and catch her breath, stroke her face and ask her about her day. He'd listen to her rant, take her side of every argument and kiss her knuckles softly, wanting her mouth more but not wanting to interrupt. He likes her. A lot. 

In one movement, Patty grinds down onto him and sucks on his tongue, and oh, okay, never mind, this is not cuddling. Stan's heart races. She makes a pleased sound when he raises his hips up to meet hers. They rock against each other. Stan shudders when she bites his lip. 

Patty grabs clumsily at his lap, unwilling to slow her movement or break the kiss to touch him properly. Doesn't matter. Stan is half-hard and desperate. He reaches down to rub between her legs, encouraged by the damp heat she's emitting. 

"Fuck, I'm so turned on," she says, which goes without saying. She sits back, panting. Her face is full of want and her eyes are trained on his mouth. 

"What do you want?" he asks, moving his hand to grip her thigh. 

"Mmm. Fuck. Okay. Y'know what I want? I want to blow you."

Stan mouths drops open. "Buh," he says, stupidly.

He'll never stop reeling from how direct she is, but he especially wasn't expecting that, not with the way she was just rutting against his hand.

"Sorry," Patty continues, "I know it's hard for you and I don't want to pressure you at all, I'm just. Ugh. I need you in my mouth."

"You want-"

She cuts him off. "Yeah, I mean, you know when you really want to go down on me and you don't care if you get to come? Same feeling. It's all I can think about. But, I mean, again, whatever you want, we can do something else if you don't wanna-"

It can't be the same feeling. That's not possible. But Stan's skin is prickling with arousal and Patty doesn't have to keep defending herself, so he doesn't wait for her to finish speaking before he chimes in with, "You can."

Patty's eyes widen. "Yeah? You want me to?"

"Yeah. Sure. Let's try."

She kisses him quickly. "Can I take this off?"

"No. Absolutely not. Why would I want that," Stan says, even-toned, helping to slip her dress over her head. 

He unclips her bra with relative ease. Patty looks a little silly wearing just leggings and nothing else; she gets off the bed and removes them. Stan unzips his pants and starts to take off his shirt. He's too slow, apparently, because Patty makes an impatient sound and pulls it over his head herself. She's eager today. 

Her hands coast down his chest as she kisses him. He gets three seconds to admire her naked body before she starts instructing him.

“Sit on the edge of the bed for me,” she says. “Spread your legs a little more- thank you.”

She kneels in the space he's created between his legs. 

"Are you sure you want to- I can make room up here if you-"

"Nah, this is good. Comfortable."

Stan narrows his eyes at her. 

Patty lays her hand just over his stomach and says, "Relax."

Stan leans back, resting his weight on his elbows, and tries to breathe. He starts to unconsciously bounce his leg. Patty grips his bare thigh to stop him, the blunt edges of her short fingernails digging ever-so-slightly into his skin. His dick visibly twitches. She grins.

"Help me take these off," she says, tugging on his underwear. 

He lifts his hips and they pull his boxers off together. His dick is heavy and leaking. There's enough light in the room for Stan to see her pupils widen. Which is. Something.

She takes his cock into her hand and Stan bites back a whine. He's nervous, yes, of course he is, but he feels like he's always gagging for her attention lately and it is… Exciting. To have it completely. 

“How do you feel about the word pretty?” Patty asks, sliding her hand up his shaft, focused.

“How do I _feel_ about it?” Stan busies his hand by tracing little circles onto her arm.

“About it being applied to you.”

“Oh,” Stan says. “Fine. Good.”

“Great. Because I think you’re very pretty,” she says, then runs her tongue up the underside of his cock. 

Patty blows him like she's doing it for herself. She meets his eyes and winks before lapping up the precum beading at the tip. Her tongue is playful, exploratory. Each movement of her clever mouth is accompanied by reassuring breathy sounds. The noises are performative, Stan assumes, she only makes them for him. But he likes them. 

Stan's fortunate, he supposes. His romantic feelings might be unrequited but he's having sex with his crush and she wants to make him feel good and she's _so hot._

Patty kisses the head of his cock, then says, "I wanna hear you," and Stan realizes he's been holding back. 

He unclenches his jaw. He moans openly, and she responds with sounds of her own, little moans bubbling up from her throat. Patty sucks the head of his dick into her mouth and he's nearly overwhelmed by the sensation. 

This is the point where they usually stop. Stan can feel the shift in Patty's behavior; she's not hesitating exactly, she's not slowing down, but she's more observant. Watching closely for any sign of discomfort. But he doesn't want to stop. His anxiety has been silently and slowly replacing itself with _need_. He needs her to keep touching him, he needs to… 

His eyes flutter shut. She notices immediately.

“Stanley. Look at me,” she says.

Stan does. 

Patty laces the fingers of her free hand with his. “Hi. How do you feel?"

His mind is blurry. He's so fucking hard. "Good," he pants. "You can keep going." 

Patty beams. She drops her mouth open a little, lets his dick rest against her tongue. She licks gently at the head, still smiling at him with her eyes. 

Stan shudders. "You're so…"

"What am I, baby?" she says, voice low and adoring. 

Electric heat shoots up Stan's body. He tightens his grasp on her hand. Patty pumps her wrist a few times before guiding him back into her warm mouth. 

_"Perfect_ ," he gasps, and Stan knows that's too much, he knows he can't fucking say things like that, but he's too far gone to worry. He needs her to know.

Her groan vibrates through his body. 

Patty lets go of his hand. He assumes she's going to use it to get better leverage on his dick, then watches in awe as she reaches down to rub her clit. Like she's getting off on getting him off. 

She likes this. She's been thinking about this. Not just all afternoon. Has she fantasized about him for months? 

"Oh. You _want_ me," he whispers. 

She pops him out of her mouth, replacing her tongue with her hand. _"Yes,_ Stanley. Is it finally clicking?"

"Yeah. Fuck."

He is mesmerized when Patty continues sucking him. She tries to swallow him deeper, then pulls back with a slight cough. Stan starts to sit forward in alarm - he doesn't want her to hurt herself, doesn't understand the appeal of his partner literally gagging - but Patty shakes her head, crinkles her eyes, and takes him into her mouth again. 

She's so good. She's _beautiful_ , and so good at this, he can't stop watching the bobbing of her head, her pretty mouth, wet and eager. One brisk flick of her tongue and Stan is abruptly aware of the tension that has been building up inside of him. It might happen this time. 

“Patty- I’m-”

She locks eyes with him, withdraws the hand that was circling her clit, and brings it up to hold down his hips firmly. Good thinking, she's so smart, he doesn't want to hurt her and he might buck his hips if. When. 

There's moisture glistening on two of her fingers. Stan wants them in his mouth. He would ask for that, gladly, he'd beg, but the pressure inside him is building rapidly, he's getting closer and closer and she isn't letting up, she's looking at him with those dark eyes, making those sounds like she wants, no, needs him to come for her, and it's a hum that pushes him over the edge.

Blood roaring in his ears, mind staticky, he is very aware of Patty swallowing. 

After, she smiles at him, resting her chin on her folded hands. 

"Hi," she says. Her voice is rough and quiet. 

"Hi," he says, starstruck.

"I'm very happy."

"I'm…" 

Stan is overwhelmed with feeling. He bends down and kisses her forehead. 

Patty keeps smiling at him. 

"Are you ready to hear my cum review?" she says, wearing that neutral face she takes on when she knows she's about to say something funny.

Stan, hopelessly endeared, stroking her hair, says, "Sure."

"Not bad. Like, it's a bodily fluid, I'm not gonna sit here and drink it out of a cup or something but I'd give it an eight out of ten."

"That's a higher rating than I'd expect."

"There's at least two points added on because it's yours."

And that's kind of disgusting, it shouldn't be romantic, but Stan is emotionally fragile and she's still on her _knees._ He can't stand Patty being below him any longer. He slides his body off of the bed, landing on the floor with a muted thud and scratching his knees on the shitty carpet. Patty watches him do this incredulously.

"Why are you on the floor?" she asks once he settles.

"I wanted to be on the same level as you."

Patty grabs his face, her eyebrows drawn, lips parted. "Stanley. Sweetheart. We could both be on the bed."

This had not occurred to him. 

He's too distracted by the _sweetheart_ to reply intelligently. He's still not over _baby_ , but she said that in the heat of the moment, mid-blowjob, probably saying whatever came to mind to get him off. He doesn't want to read too much into anything. But. He likes the pet names a lot.

"Oh. Yeah," he says after what is probably too long of a pause. 

Patty shakes her head, and kisses him with a laugh. Stan deepens the kiss immediately, desperate to communicate this feeling he can't put a word to. He can taste himself on her mouth. He doesn't mind it at all. 

"You're happy?" he asks her. "You had a good time?" That's all he wants. 

“Yes. I'm very excited. Now I can work on getting better for you.”

Stan shakes his head. "Shh. You're great."

"Excuse me, I thought I was _perfect?"_ she teases. "Nah, I'm mediocre at best. And you're like a god at eating pussy. I gotta catch up."

Stan covers his face with his hands. Patty chuckles at him. She smooches the back of each of his hands, right over his closed eyes. 

She grabs one of his hands and pulls him to stand. He crashes into her and they both laugh. Arms wrapped around each other tightly, they sway along to silence. 

Stan drops kisses on every bit of her skin he can reach. “What can I do for you?” he asks. 

“Nothing. I’m satisfied.”

He narrows his eyes. “Are you sure-”

She shushes him. "I wanted to focus on you. And I did. I'm good."

It's Stan's turn to grumble. 

He kisses her arm and feels their bubble begin to dissipate. This is his least favorite part, every time. One or both of them will pull away from an embrace, check the time on their phone, maybe glance at their discarded clothing. They'll kiss a few more times, distracted. Someone will mention having class in the morning. The other will reference their own schedule. 

He doesn't want this to end. But it has to. 

“Can I kiss you?” he asks, and he doesn’t know why he’s asking. He knows she'll say yes. 

Patty laughs and wraps her arms around him. "I think we can acknowledge that we like to kiss goodbye."

And he hates that she said that word, that she's thinking what he's thinking, that she knows this is about to end. Stan presses his lips against hers carefully, like he's afraid to shatter the splintering moment. 

Patty kisses him back just as carefully. She's soft, gentle, light. Stan suppresses a whine. He holds onto her tighter, not painfully, just firm. They nuzzle their noses together, both stealing light kisses when their lips brush. 

He wants her to stay the night. He's wanted to sleep next to her every night since he first realized his feelings but they've never done that before. He doesn't know if she wants that, if that would be crossing a line. 

Patty rests her face against his. Their eyes are half-open; they breathe the same air. He feels her inhale. He watches her mouth part like she's going to speak. He wants to kiss her so she can't. Instead he does something stupid. 

“Stay,” he says, regretting it immediately. _Way to be subtle about your feelings, Uris._

Patty pulls back, her hands resting on his elbows. "What?"

"You uh. You could stay? Here? Tonight? If you wanted to."

Patty's face is inscrutable. Stan panics.

"It's just, y'know, it's getting late, um, and I was thinking, well, it's been snowing, so if you leave now we'll have to dig your car out, which I don't mind doing! But it would be easier in the morning! And there's plenty of space here! I could give you my room, actually, I'll sleep on the couch?" Stan doesn't want to do that. He doesn't know why he's offering to do that. He's panicking. 

Patty shakes her head. "Calm down, dweeb. In what fucking universe would I want to sleep in your bed without you?"

"I don't, uh-"

Patty's voice is soft. "You're so fucking nervous all the time." She roughly rubs her hands up and down his arms. Stan wills the friction to soothe him.

"Sorry."

"Luckily I find it charming," she kisses the tip of his nose. "Yeah, I'll stay. Thank you."

He smiles with relief. 

"Just so you know, I'm going to hog the bed and there's nothing you can do about it."

She shakes her fist theatrically. "It's always the little ones!"

"I'm not _little._ "

"You're fun-sized and very cute," Patty nods. 

She's so fun to flirt with. 

Stan finds something for her to wear to bed. “You can borrow my clothes tomorrow. Maybe pants from Richie,” he adds, glancing at her legs. 

"You think I won't wear the same pair of leggings two days in a row? Please."

He grins at her. 

They head to the bathroom together. Stan crouches down and rummages through the cabinet. “Rich’s dad is a dentist, so we have a shit ton of these sitting around.”

He hands her a small toothbrush - purple - wrapped in cellophane. 

She rips it open and says, “This is so sexy.”

Stan watches her brush her teeth. He is so enamored. 

“Can I tell you something upsetting?” he says. 

She narrows her eyes, but nods, still brushing.

“Giving a hookup a toothbrush is a total Bill move.”

Patty groans and rolls her eyes. She spits. “I hate that,” she wipes her mouth. “You should've said it was your thing."

"That would've been an obvious lie, seeing as you're the first person to spend the night with me."

"What?" Patty lets out an exaggerated gasp. "Next thing you'll tell me I took your virginity."

"Fuck, you weren't supposed to know."

She hip checks him. "I like to think we traded virginities." 

"That's cute," he says. He likes her, he likes her, he likes her. 

Patty rests her chin on Stan’s shoulder and wraps her arms around his middle. He feels electrified. 

"Oh, I have an unused contact lens case and a bottle of solution and makeup wipes. If you want them," Stan offers.

Patty grins, untangles herself from him, and takes the offered items. "These for Bill's hookups too?"

"No, they're for you," he says. "I bought them just in case."

 _Just in case._ Stan's been thinking about this for weeks. He thought it through so many times - what would she need, how could he make her feel comfortable? 

Stan can't look at himself in the mirror. He knows his yearning is written all over his face. He looks at Patty instead, watching her drag the wipe down her cheek. He's not sure if he's imagining the softness of her eyes. 

When they return to his bedroom, Patty takes off her clothes. 

"I usually sleep naked," she explains. 

Stan nods, locks the door, and grabs extra blankets for her. It's cold tonight.

He takes off his shirt and moves to stand next to her. He catches her in a hug; she shrieks when he spins her around. Giggling, they flop onto the bed together. 

Stan crawls so he's hovering over her. She reaches up and puts her hand on the back of his neck. He leans down to capture her mouth and kisses her with fervor. She rolls her body up as she kisses him back. Eager. Friction-seeking. 

Patty's not a fan of him teasing her physically, but mental teasing is fair game. 

He shifts his body so she's grinding against his thigh. She's soft and pliable under his hands. 

He presses his face into her cleavage, dropping kisses right over her sternum, and says, "Time for bed?" into her skin. 

"What? Why?"

“It's late… we have class in the morning… and someone said she was satisfied?” he says, beginning to kiss up her neck. He skirts his left hand up her side, resting it to cup her breast. His thumb rubs at her hardening nipple. 

“I said that when I thought I was. Going home to my vibrator. Fuck,” she pants.

Stan grins and kisses the shell of her ear. “Ah. Got it. Do you want my mouth or my hands?”

 _“Fuck._ Hands. Kiss me.”

Stan touches her without a goal in mind. He gets her there anyway. They fall asleep curled into each other, limbs intertwined, radiating heat.

* * *

The morning after their first sleepover, Patty wakes up before him. She's chatty, a morning person. He makes her coffee and listens to her rant. Stan vastly overestimated the impact of the snow storm - they got maybe two inches - so she doesn't need his help with her car. He walks her outside anyway. She kisses him right before she leaves for her morning class, the cold air whipping at their exposed skin. Stan stays out there until her car is out of his line of sight. He returns to bed for a few hours, doesn't fall back asleep, clutches the pillow until it stops smelling like her. 

Stan sees Patty less and less during the following weeks. Nothing is wrong between them, Patty is apologetic every time they go more than a day without spending time together, but school is her priority. It's supposed to be his, too, so he tries not to feel bitter about it. But he misses her.

Finals week is the worst. Patty is taking the maximum number of credits allowed in one semester, and all of her classes are upper level courses in the humanities. This means she has to write six final papers. She's too busy to make time for Stan at all.

He copes with this by doting on her. On Friday, the last day of Finals, Stan makes a stop at the library. He had the last of his exams that morning. He knows that Patty is likely to still be here, finishing up her work. 

Stan spots Patty at a table in the back corner of the first floor. He texts her an eye emoji, then locks his phone. Waits.

She pokes her head up from her laptop and frowns. She scans the room. Stan can tell when she spots him; she bites her lip and returns her attention to her computer.

He takes this as permission to approach. Patty breaks into a smile when he sits down at her table. 

"What are you doing here, Stanley?" she says, because it's always _Stanley_ lately, never Stan. 

"Oh, I just so happened to be passing through. I had no idea you would be here."

"Mmhmm."

“And would you look at that, I just so happened to bring a loaf of challah with me. Do you think there's anyone around who gets so focused on schoolwork that she forgets to feed herself?"

Patty narrows her eyes at him. Stan smiles impishly and pulls the challah out of his bag.

"You baked this?" she says.

Stan nods and pushes it toward her. She gives him that frown that means she's happy. He loves that frown.

Patty grabs a chunk of the bread. "Fine. I accept your gesture."

Stan holds up his index finger, pulls out a container of sliced apples and baby carrots. He nods toward her water bottle. “I’ll refill that for you.”

Her frown grows. "You are amazing," she says through gritted teeth.

Butterflies. 

He observes her, mostly. 

This floor of the library isn't very quiet. It's crowded, less so than it had been earlier in the week, but nearly every table is occupied. Stan finds the ever-present murmur comforting. Patty types loudly, her fingers confidently slamming against the keys. She's not wearing makeup, and her eyes look tired behind her glasses. Stan wonders how long she's been here, how long she's been awake. He wants to hold her. 

"Watching me again?" she says under her breath. 

Stan startles. Patty doesn't look at him, focused on her computer screen, but she quirks her mouth into a slight smile.

"Am I distracting you?" Stan asks.

"Yes," she says. "You are inherently distracting."

"Do you want me to leave?"

"Nope." She hooks her foot around his ankle like she's locking him into place. "I only need… an hour? Maybe? And then I'm done. So just sit here and look cute for me."

Stan doesn't have to be told twice. He waits. He nibbles on some of the food he brought for her. She smiles at him when he crunches a carrot particularly loudly.

After twenty minutes, he asks, "Can I help?"

"Think you can help me with essays, business major?" she raises an eyebrow at him. 

Stan shrugs and grabs his computer. "Maybe."

She sends him an email with five documents attached. 

"Okay. You can proofread these for me. The first two are Chicago, other three are MLA. Pick your poison," she says.

"I admit I do not know the difference.."

Patty rolls her eyes. "Uh huh. Just make sure there aren't typos, I guess."

He reads through them, grateful he's not checking for the accuracy of the information. He catches only two errors. She's amazing. 

Fifty-seven minutes after Stan arrives at the library, Patty snaps her laptop shut and says, "Done." 

Stan smiles at her. "Awesome. Ready to go?"

Patty opens her computer again, and shoots an ironic smile at Stan's confused look. "Not yet. I did that to be dramatic. I actually have to print these now."

"Ugh."

"And I have to turn in a paper copy to all of their offices," Patty sighs deeply. "So I've gotta wait for all of these to print and then staple them and then run around campus for an hour. Then I'm done."

"I can take a few and turn them in for you. Just tell me where to go," he offers.

She shakes her head. "You're so sweet, but I have to do it myself or I'll panic that something went wrong."

"Then is it okay if I walk with you?"

Patty sticks her tongue out at him. "Sure."

They walk to another section of the library. She leans on him while they wait for the printer to finish. Her face digs into his shoulder. Stan curls his arm around her waist. The height difference means he can't exactly rest his head on hers, not while they're standing like this, but he tries his best.

She closes her eyes. She looks exhausted. Stan wants to count her eyelashes. He wants to kiss her. He doesn't know if he's allowed to do that. 

He taps her jaw. Patty blinks her eyes open and looks at him. He tilts his head slightly and then she moves to meet him and then they're kissing. She sighs when he slides his tongue against hers. Making out in a crowded library in the middle of the day is beyond obnoxious, but Stan doesn't really care. 

They turn in her papers. It takes about twenty minutes, and Patty just about collapses when they return to her car. 

"What's the plan now? Taking a nap?" he asks. 

"I'm so fucking tired but I couldn't nap if I tried," she says. 

"Stress," Stan nods. "Hmm. Can I interest you in some stress relief?"

Patty shuts her eyes and slumps against him. _"Yes._ Please. God, I gotta shower first, I haven't showered in like three days, but yes."

He hugs her. "You could shower at my place if you really want to," he murmurs. "But. Well. I'm very into you right now."

Patty looks at him. Tilts her head. He raises his eyebrows. 

"Oh you're gross!" she says, delighted, kissing him on the cheek. "You're disgusting!"

A few hours later, Stan finds himself laying in bed with her, both freshly showered. 

Patty's head is on his chest, ear pressed right over his heart. She's curled into him, and he can feel heat coming off of her in waves. She's inspecting his hand. Stan's willing to bet that she'll soon be angling for a third round. 

"When are you leaving?" Patty asks.

"Ugh, tomorrow morning."

"When?"

"Early. Need to be there by six."

She laces her fingers with his. “You're taking a bus, right? I can drive you to the bus station,” Patty says.

“You don’t have to do that,” he says.

“Nah, I want to. I don't feel like leaving right now, and then I can wake you up."

"Hm. Did you just invite yourself to sleep over?"

She flicks his arm with her free hand. "Like you weren't going to ask me to.”

"Maybe I wasn't."

"Oh, bite me."

Stan nips her earlobe. Patty squeaks, then grins and rolls on top of him.

The next morning, dark and early, Patty kisses him awake. On the drive over, for the first time, Stan lets himself think a specific forbidden thought. He looks at Patty in the driver's seat, eyes sparkling as she talks animatedly about the dream she had the night before, and thinks _it feels like we're dating._

That thought is forbidden because it is predicated on false hope. She's not his girlfriend, he's not her boyfriend, he knows this. 

But it feels like… But.

His brain reminds him that Patty doesn't want to date, that they have this arrangement to benefit them both. But of course his brain - not his heart, he doesn't think with his goddamn heart - another or perhaps the same part of his brain says otherwise. It whispers _maybe._

No. No matter what this feels like, he knows that it's nothing. They're friends, and that's... lovely. It’s great. 

"I'll text you," she says when they reach the station, and fuck, he hopes she does. Stan knows he’s being dramatic, but he can't help thinking that everything is going to fall apart over break. 

They aren't dating. She has no obligation to stay in contact with him. It's not as though he thinks she's going to start hating him; his anxious thoughts stay remarkably realistic. The most likely scenario is that they won't talk until they see each other again in January.

It's fine. They're friends. Stan has gone entire winter breaks without texting Bill, and it wasn't a big deal. 

It's not fine. He's going to miss her. He knows he will. 

He kisses Patty goodbye and tries his best not to think about it. His lips are still tingling when he takes his seat. He presses his fingers against them, like he can hold the feeling in. 

Another semester down. Now a month without her.


End file.
